Maneuvering the crutches, he started down the hall. “Nothing,” he said to Vic. “Just talking. Let’s find Janet and that thumb drive.”
Jillian, in yet another attempt at running from him, announced a trip to the ladies’ room, and Lynx and Vic headed to his office.
Ten minutes later, she was still practicing her disappearing act when Janet walked into Lynx’s office. She spotted Vic leaning against the window frame, nodded and held up the thumb drive. “Here you go. Everything I could find—in the pitiful amount of time you gave me, that is—on Greg Leeds.”
Lynx took the device from her. “Thank you.”
“I’ll keep looking. Gavin is gone, so I’ll have time tonight.”
Jillian swung into the room just as Janet was leaving. “Hi.”
“Hi, bye,” Janet said, but spun back. “Oh, hey. Where’s Willie?”
Vic pulled a face. “The lobby guard?”
“Yeah. I went across the street for a sandwich and when I came back, he wasn’t there. I figured he stepped away.”
Slowly, Lynx turned his head toward Vic, who gave him the WTF face. “He was down there when we came up.”
“Well,” Janet said. “I was at the deli when you called me. When I came back, he was gone. Maybe he was getting a pop or something.”
Vic moved to the door. “I’ll check it out.”
Lynx hopped over to the safe where he’d stored the .38 Vic had given him the night of their aborted visit to Stennar Pharm. He might be living up to his nickname and being paranoid, but something didn’t feel right.
Janet came up behind him. “What’s going on?”
He handed her the .38. “I don’t know. Take this and go. Head down the back stairs.”
She shoved the gun back at him. “No. You’ll need it.”
He gripped her arm. “Take it. I’ll get another one from the weapons closet Vic keeps. I don’t want you unarmed.”
“Hang on,” Jillian said. She had that spooked big-eyed look about her. “You’re freaking me out. If there’s a problem with the guard downstairs, why are we standing around arguing about a gun?”
From somewhere outside the executive suite doors the rat-a-tat-tat of an automatic weapon filled the quiet hallway and, in unison, their heads snapped up. The silent but potent stream of shock and panic buzzed the room and sparked a blood surge in Lynx.
Gunfire.
Hallway.
Vic.
Every nerve ending lit and sizzled and fried his skin. Vic could be dead, lying on the floor in the hallway while he stood here. On crutches. Doing nothing. They had to get to him. If not them, someone else.
In a fit of movement, Janet lunged toward the door. Lynx grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked. Whatever that firing was, she didn’t need to be running into the middle of it. Vic was their friend, but he wouldn’t want them throwing themselves into gunfire.
“You can’t,” Lynx whispered.
But—Jesus—he wanted to go just as badly.
Jillian ran to the desk. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”
He held his finger to his lips. “Dial and leave the phone off the hook. There’s no time to talk. They’ll send someone.”
Using hand signals, Lynx pointed to the door. He went first, crutches and all, and waved them in behind him. He’d have to clear that hallway. They huddled next to the doorframe in single file. Nothing but silence. No doors opening, no footsteps, no voices. He peeped around the doorframe, looked left then right.
Nothing.
He spun back to Janet and Jillian. “I’ll draw their fire. You two get to the exit door at the back of the suite.” To Jillian he said, “Go right. The door is on the left.”
She nodded, but her eyes darted back and forth and her shoulders shook. Had she even understood? He’d seen this before on battle-weary soldiers. Shock so profound that they functioned on remote, performing their tasks, battling the enemy, but not really absorbing the weight of it. Later, when the shock wore off, that weight would crush her.
He touched her shoulder and waited for her to look at him. There we go. “When we get into the hallway, you two run ahead. Don’t wait for me. Got it?”
“But—”
“Jillian, I’ll be fine. You need to get out.” He hobbled into the hall—damned cripple—saw it was clear and waved the women on. “Go!”
The suite entry door swung open and the barrel of an automatic weapon appeared. A barrage of gunfire exploded into the room. Someone yelped—Janet. Jillian hauled ass to the exit door while Lynx dove behind the secretary’s desk, hoping to draw the gunman in. He hit the floor, his arms taking the brunt of it, but smacked his knees. Nauseating pain ripped through his right knee and he squeezed his eyes closed for half a second.
If those fucking bullets whizzing by him connected, they’d hurt a helluva lot more. Huddled behind the desk, he peered at the south end of the hallway. Janet lay facedown, her arms sprawled sideways. Blood seeped from under her, darkening the carpet.
Two down.
Goddammit. They might both be dead. He shook it off. No time to think. Later.
He shot a look down the hallway. No Jillian. She’d better have run. If he could get to Janet, he could drag her behind the desk for cover.
He gripped one of the crutches. Not a great weapon, but it would have to do. Then the desk flew backward and he swung the crutch, connecting with the meaty part of the huge man’s thigh. The man winced, then held his M16 up and—bam—something hard slammed into Lynx’s head. For a second, everything flashed white and he jerked his head to clear it. His full belly churned and his vision blurred. Nausea consumed him. The carpeted floor loomed, then zigzagged.
Shit.
What a way to die. On the floor with a bum knee.
Useless.
Chapter Twenty
Jillian tore down eight flights of stairs, avoided the lobby level in case any bad guys waited there, and burst through the emergency exit door in the parking garage.
Cold, damp air swept in on her and exhaust fumes fogged her thoughts. Where to go? To her left, shiny black SUVs filled the first aisle. Behind that were rows and rows of empty spaces where daytime employees likely parked. At this hour, only a few scattered cars remained.
Could there be an emergency exit next to the garage door? And would she be able to get it open? A button on the inside maybe?
Breaking into a sprint, she barreled by the row of SUVs. The silver garage gate loomed, barely fifty yards ahead. She scanned the sides of the garage. Shadows filled the space just inside the doorway. Not enough light to see a button.
Damn.
Her heart slammed and she let out a squeak.
Calm, calm, calm. Over and over she repeated the mantra. What had Jack said? The fear wouldn’t kill her, it’s what she did with it that would kill her. Use the fear.
A small, darkened office was to the right of the door. Another ten yards and she’d be there. She slowed her run and her breath came in quick, deep gasps. If only she’d done more cardio with the yoga. She stopped at the door, studied the wall beside it, then ran her hand over the frame. Nothing.
Other side.
She darted over, did the same routine again.
“Don’t bother, baby.” The deep, almost amused voice came from behind her. “We got ya this time.”
Jillian spun and faced that same menacing Hispanic man. Another squeak curled in her throat. Use the fear. She cut her gaze right, then left. No one. He was alone. She’d eluded him twice already. Maybe the third time was the charm.
She scanned her surroundings. A car wouldn’t fit through the narrow aisle to her right, but a person could. Her breath still heaving, she bolted to the aisle.
“Nowhere to go,” the man called. “Don’t make me hurt you again. Al
ready got your boyfriend. And the big guy. And the skinny bitch. All three of ’em. Got ’em all. Only you left.”
In her ears, a soft whistle grew and unfurled to an awful shriek. They could be dead. Jack, Vic and Janet. All dead. Because of her. Because she’d asked Jack to help her with a security system. Because they were good people and wouldn’t let someone falter.
Her chest locked and she opened her mouth to release the trapped air. It came out in spurts, a panicked, jerking exhalation, no release. Can’t breathe. Her eyes burned and she slammed them shut. Suffocating. These sons of bitches. A day at a time, they were stealing her life. Snatching all the things she loved. Dammit, if she only had the bat from under her bed. She’d bash this guy’s skull in. Just beat him senseless, over and over and over again for the terror he’d put her and Jack and Janet and Vic through. That’s what she’d do. She’d beat the fucker senseless.
Maybe they’re not dead.
She had to hope. They couldn’t kill Jack. They’d want to know what he knew. Somehow, she had to get to him. They’d figure something out. Together. Like they’d been doing all along. That’s what she’d do.
Get to Jack.
A siren outside—the police answering her 9-1-1 call—refocused her, brought her senses to perfect, logical alignment. She inhaled through her nose, cataloging the damp smell of the garage, the confined car exhaust, the sight of the SUVs in perfect unison, the sounds of multiple sirens on the street, all of it registering.
Run.
She sprinted to the back wall of the garage and turned left. Hide. That’s what she needed to do. Make the man search for her until he gave up. Until the police searched the garage. Anything.
Her low heels smacked against the pavement and she dug harder, fighting the fatigue. Keep running. Nowhere to go.
Nowhere.
Trying to outmaneuver her attacker, she scooted through two SUVs and dropped to the ground to peer under them. No feet in either direction. No sound either.
Where the hell is he?
And then a foot pressed onto her back, driving her against the cold concrete.
“Gotcha.”
No, no, no. Resisting the pressure of that giant foot, her body tensed, every inch rock solid. The thick rubber of his shoes dug into her spine, pressing, stealing what was left of her air. He leaned in and with each compression, her breasts smashed against the damp ground and her ribs jabbed the concrete. Stabbing pain shot down her midsection.
Yet her mind remained on task. Fight. Don’t make it easy. She craned her neck, searching for a weapon. Anything she could use to bring him down. To hurt his leg enough that he’d have to release her.
“Forget it,” he said. “You’re mine now.”
* * *
The big guy shoved Lynx into the trunk of the same Lincoln they’d driven earlier in the day and slammed the lid. Blackness consumed the compartment and Lynx closed his eyes. Stabbing jolts shot from his shoulders to his wrists where his asshole captor had bound them. At least it was rope and not cuffs or zip ties. Rope he had an iota of a chance at untying.
But, crap, his shoulders were screaming. Throw in the aching knee and he was a stone-cold mess. It wouldn’t matter, though. He’d dealt with worse.
Which was what he fully expected in the next few minutes and hours. He opened his eyes and let them adjust to the darkness.
He hadn’t seen the big guy’s partner before being tossed into the trunk. Did that mean he was hunting Jillian? Had Lynx given her enough of a head start to escape?
The car moved forward and Lynx’s body swayed with the movement. His guess was they’d take him somewhere local. They’d want to be close in case they found Jillian. If these assholes were smart, they’d play one of them against the other.
They’d figure out which of them was the weaker minded. With his military training, they’d most likely focus on her. They’d make her watch while they beat him, choked him, hacked away at his bum knee.
They’d break her by trying to break him.
Chances were it would work. He just didn’t know what they were after. Clearly, they knew she knew something and that’s what they were after. They couldn’t get rid of either one of them until they knew who told what to whom.
With all the gunshots fired before they’d left the building, Lynx prayed Vic and Janet were injured and not...dead. A racking sorrow punctured his chest and he closed his eyes again. Work on a plan. No sense in dwelling on the loss of his friend and colleague when he didn’t know for sure.
Chances were he’d gotten them both killed.
Plan.
Think later.
Eventually, the car came to a stop and the engine was shut down. Wherever they were, he needed the area to be well lit. He’d get a look around before they threw a bag over his head because, surely, they’d throw a bag over his head.
Or maybe not. Either way, Lynx rolled to his back so he could sit straight up and look around as soon as the trunk opened.
A door slammed and he listened for another. Nothing. One captor. Maybe he had a chance. The trunk popped open and Lynx shot to a sitting position. Large overhead lights shined down on a parking lot he didn’t recognize. He cut his gaze left then right. One car in the lot, parked three rows over. That was it. No other signs of activity.
Quiet place.
Loads of trouble.
* * *
Blindfolded, Jillian was taken from what felt like some sort of cargo van and led across a flat, open area—hard ground, maybe blacktop—and up a short staircase with a metal handrail. In certain spots the rail was rusted over. Old building.
The cha-clunk of an industrial door sounded and a second later she was shoved inside with such force, she lost her balance and landed on cold cement.
“Jillian?” Jack’s voice.
Before she could stop it, a sob broke free. The ride over had been a nightmare of thoughts and visions of Jack and Vic and Janet, their dead bloody bodies sprawled on the floor inside Taylor Security. Now, at least, she still had Jack.
She ripped off the blindfold and blinked a couple of times to bring the room into focus. Twenty feet away, Jack sat in a wooden chair. A thick rope stretched across the front of his body—twice—leaving his arms tight at his sides.
Tears filled her eyes and she ran to him. “I’m so sorry.”
Immediately, she bent low to see about the knot on the rope.
“Forget it. They’re not stupid enough to leave us here that long.”
Still, she’d try. She went to work on the knot, but the rope was too thick and tight. No leverage.
“Where are we?” Jack asked.
She looked around. A warehouse. Not big. Maybe the size of a storefront, but empty. Cinderblock walls surrounded them on all four sides and the cement floor held an inch of grime. She glanced at her hands where some of the floor’s dirt transferred when she fell.
“I don’t know. It’s a warehouse. Or a storage facility.”
She worked the knot again, her fingers furiously maneuvering to different spots. “I can’t get this knot.”
“You’re not supposed to.”
* * *
The door flew open and the big guy stepped in. Lynx relaxed his shoulders and concentrated on mentally preparing his already abused body for what might come. Could be bullshit. Screwing with my mind. Part of a torture session was the mental distress.
Behind Tractor Arms came his partner. Fierce pricks shot along Lynx’s arms, legs, shoulders, everywhere, a current of sizzling shocks. He inhaled, long, slow and deep. Mental distress.
In his mind, he visualized each part of his body and willed the discomfort away. Surviving meant keeping his emotions under control.
Jillian, still on her knees, inched in front of him. He appreciated the attempt to shield him
, but her eyes were huge with fear. Something he’d never seen on her before. Spooked, yes, but not like this.
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low but firm. She turned from the two men and looked at him. “Focus,” he mouthed.
A third man, one Lynx didn’t recognize, entered behind the apes and the heavy door locked into place. He wore a light gray suit with a white shirt and a blue tie. From this distance the suit looked silk, but what did Lynx know? Other than it was an expensive suit.
The man’s gray hair was short and impeccably groomed. Of the three, this guy was definitely more accustomed to a spa than a torture chamber.
The boss.
He spoke first and directed his words to Jillian. “I thought I’d welcome our guests. My dear, you have given my men quite a challenge. I applaud your bravery.”
Lynx couldn’t place the accent. Nothing stood out. A bit of South Africa. Some Brit thrown in?
A mutt.
The mutt turned to Lynx, inclined his head and went back to Jillian. “Bravery, though, can be a foolish thing. I will ask you only this one time. What you did with that vial?”
She finally stood and faced the guy. He had a few inches on her, but his build was lean. Unimposing. “Who are you?”
Bam. He backhanded her. Lynx jumped at the crack of the slap and Jillian’s head snapped sideways. She stumbled a few steps, her hands reaching for something, anything, to cling to. Vicious blow.
Lynx had called this wrong. His heart raced and his arms burned from the tug of the ropes, but there wasn’t a goddamned thing he could do. He’d have to sit here, trussed up like an animal, and watch them beat on her.
“One more time,” the son of a bitch said. “Where’s that vial?”
Tell him something. He jerked his head toward the guy, urging her to say something, anything that would keep them from beating on her again.
She ran the back of her hand over her cheek. The slap had ripped open the stitches there. When her hand came away, a red streak spanned her cheek. “I don’t know.”
The man tilted his head. He paused as if considering his options. “I gave you two chances. My generosity is limited.” He turned to Lynx. “Perhaps you will be the sensible one.”
Opposing Forces Page 25
