by Karen Rose
Dana could only stare, horrified at what she’d planned. “Evie would never hurt me.”
Sue’s teeth flashed in a grin. “Of course she wouldn’t. But I would. And I’ll enjoy it, too. Now I know how to cut a throat and have my victim survive. If you do survive, you’ll wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed.” She sighed lustily. “The guards are going to love you, sugar. Possession, forgery, murder. If you live, you’ll be inside a good long time.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Dana said steadily and Sue looked grimly satisfied.
“Not as much as I’ve given to other matters,” she said. “But enough.”
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 6:15 A.M.
Mia slammed her car door, hearing Abe do the same behind her as she ran up to the fire department car. Empty. Behind it sat a local squad car. An officer stood next to the abandoned car, looking grim. “Nothing inside,” he said, “but we found somebody.”
Mia’s heart leaped into her throat. Dana. “Dead?”
“Unconscious. She must have hit her head on a rock when she rolled down that little embankment. I called for an ambulance.” Mia was already scrambling down the side of the hill, sending little rocks flying. The officer’s partner knelt on the ground, blocking her view. Then she was around him and dropped to her knees, equal parts relief and shock.
“Abe,” she shouted. “It’s Evie.”
He picked his way down more cautiously, his face tight. “One up, one down,” he said. “I just heard from Sergeant Elliot back at the Hunters’ house. They found the Lawndale EMT. He’s on his way to County with a nine mil in his chest.”
“But Buchanan said she had Dana’s gun.”
Abe went down on one knee, gently brushing dirt and rocks from Evie’s cheek. “Like you said, Mia. Conway keeps her business separate from her personal. Dana, and Buchanan by association, they’re personal.”
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 8:30 A.M.
Well, Sue knew now that Evie had escaped, Dana thought as her knees hit a concrete floor with a loud crack. The shove from Sue’s foot still throbbed between her shoulder blades; Sue’s roar of outrage still rang in her ears. Her jaw still throbbed from the blow Sue had leveled fifteen minutes before when, approaching the city, Sue had pulled into an alley to switch cars once more only to find the back floorboard empty. She’d raised her fists to Dana’s face, but another blow didn’t come—then. Instead she’d taped her mouth, her eyes, pushed her to the floorboards, and brought her here. Wherever here was. They’d come down two flights of stairs, through two doors that sounded heavy as they’d closed behind them.
Dana bit back a cry when Sue ripped at the tape that covered her eyes, taking part of her brows with it. Grimaced at the sight of the pile of used rubbers and rusted needles six inches from her knee. Squinted up at Sue who stood towering in front of her now, fists clenched, her whole body shaking in anger. It’ll be now. She’ll kill me now.
She’d always thought she’d feel fear. Always battled the fear. Shoved the fear in the box and locked it tight. But now, looking up into the face of this woman who’d killed so many with such callous disregard, there was no fear.
Just grief. It welled from deep within, pressing hard on her chest, swelling to close her throat as she thought not of the moment, the now, but all the things she’d miss. Caroline. The new baby. Evie. David and Max and Tom and Phoebe. Her family.
And Ethan. He’d been right after all. Life was too precious to mindlessly barter. Even mine. This . . . this overwhelming sense of loss . . . She’d never stopped long enough to realize this was what she wagered every time she put her life on the line. Never let herself weigh the gain, the prize, against the price. Had she, she might have still put her life on the line, every time, but in doing so, she would have counted the cost. Which would have made the prize even more precious. That’s what Ethan had meant about sacrifice.
The kind of sacrifice she was not prepared to make today.
So she straightened her back and stared up at Sue Conway who was visibly pulling herself back together. The woman rocked back on her heels, crossing her arms over her chest, her breath coming more slowly now. She was back in control, her eyes now flatly assessing. “Adopt, adapt, and improve,” she murmured.
The tattoo, Dana realized. Adopt and adapt. That Sue had most definitely done.
Then Sue smiled and Dana felt cold, despite the stagnant heat of the room. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket, punched a few buttons. “Donnie, there’s been a little change in plans . . .” She looked annoyed. “Of course you get your party. Would I lie to you? I’ll be picking up the guest of honor, though . . .” Annoyance became a frown. “I already told you that I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anybody, but it doesn’t have anything to do with trust. Just logistics. I’ll pick her up. You just bring the boys and any other party favors your hearts desire . . .” She looked down at Dana with that chilling smile. “I’ve just added another course to the menu, that’s all. Do you remember my place? Two buildings south, in the basement. Ten o’clock.”
Sue slipped her phone back in her pocket and shouldered a backpack. “Let’s stow you where you won’t be seen. That way you’ll be a nice little surprise for the boys. I’ve got a few more things to do before the festivities begin. As much as I love to see you on your knees, you need to get up.” She sliced the twine that held her ankles together and, her hand fisted in Dana’s shirt, dragged her to her feet. “Walk slowly and don’t try anything.”
Dana made herself walk, her legs shaking beneath her as Sue pushed her forward, her own .38 shoved at the base of her skull. Her stomach roiled as she understood what Sue had in mind. Sue had been assaulted repeatedly by that guard . . . Fred Oscola. She meant Randi Vaughn to suffer the same fate. And I’m just another course to the menu.
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 8:30 A.M.
Her head . . . hurt. And the lights . . . too bright. They hurt her eyes, so she closed them.
“Evie? Honey, open your eyes.”
Evie struggled, opened her eyes, saw David’s face. Awareness cut through the fog. His smile was watery and she knew it would be bad. Still she asked. “Dana?”
David’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “She got her. But Mitchell and Reagan are looking. They want to talk to you, find out what you saw. Wait. I’ll be back.”
He was, a few minutes later, Mia and her partner with him. Mia leaned over the bed, a tired smile on her face. “You’re with us again. Where did she hold you, Evie?”
Evie’s eyes filled. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “She kept me blindfolded. I know it was hot and I know kids came in to smoke pot a few times. It was in the city, but I don’t know where. I’m sorry, Mia. I called Dana, and it was a trick.” Tears wet her cheeks. “She couldn’t find Dana, so she used me to lure Dana out.”
Mia patted her hand. “How did you get away, honey?”
“She left me in the car, in the back on the floor. I wiggled until I could sit up, then I pulled the door lock with my teeth.” Her head hurt. A lot. Evie couldn’t hold back a groan and David was there on the other side of the bed, holding her hand.
“How did you open the car door?” Mia asked gently.
“She’d tied my hands in front of me before, when she wanted me to use her phone to call Dana.” Her lips quivered and sternly she pursed them. “But when she left me there, she tied them behind my back again. I had to twist until I could pull the door handle. I fell out, onto the ground next to the car, but I didn’t want her to see the open door, so I—” she remembered the triumph she’d felt when she’d landed on the ground, the look of the open night sky—“I kicked the door shut.”
“Smart thinking,” Mia murmured, her smile still in place. Still tired. “What then?”
“I thought if she came back, she’d see me, but I couldn’t get away, because my feet were tied, too. So I rolled down the hill to hide, but it was steeper than it looked.” She looked away. “That was pretty stupid.”
/> “No, it was pretty smart. You hit your head,” Mia said. “But you’ll be fine.” She squeezed the hand David held. “Dana will be so proud of you, honey. You were just great. We found Alec because of you.”
Alec. “Is he all right?”
Mia smiled sadly. “He will be. Now you rest so you can see him when he is.”
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 8:30 A.M.
Marsden hung up the phone with a trembling hand. “That was her.”
James hung up his own extension. “I know. Ten o’clock tonight. What’s the significance of this place?”
“Basement of an apartment near where she lived when she got sent up. She hid there.”
“And she’ll be there?”
“She’s bringing the guest of honor,” Marsden said bitterly.
Randi Vaughn, née Miranda Cook. “I take it you’re disappointed the party’s canceled.”
“I was looking forward to it, yes.”
James stood up, slid his gun in his shoulder holster. “Look, Marsden, I don’t care if you have your revenge. From what I heard, you deserve it. But you breathe one word to Sue Conway and you won’t live to see tomorrow. Understand?”
Marsden’s smile had claws. “Yeah. I understand.”
James tossed a stack of bills to the table. “Your finder’s fee as we discussed. Thanks.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 10:45 A.M.
Ethan came awake slowly, cognizant of little things at first. The rhythmic beep of the monitor, the smell of the antiseptic. The fact that his arm only throbbed now. The white-hot pain was gone. He looked straight up into worried black eyes. Clay. Just like the last time he’d woken up in a hospital.
“I’m here, Ethan. You’re going to be fine.”
And it all came flooding back. Dana. Ethan struggled to sit up, only to be gently pushed back down.
“Easy, buddy,” came Clay’s smooth voice.
Ethan grabbed Clay’s wrist weakly. “Dana?”
Clay hesitated. “She’s still missing.”
His head was fuzzy. Too fuzzy to think. Too fuzzy to fight the panic. “What time is it?”
“Ten forty-five on Friday morning.”
Ethan jolted. “Five hours, dammit.”
“You’ve been in surgery, Ethan,” Clay said. “The bullet went straight through your upper arm, but it nicked an artery. You lost a hell of a lot of blood out there. They had to stitch your artery back up. It took a while, but they say you’ll be on your feet by tomorrow.”
Ethan blinked and Clay’s face came into focus. “Not tomorrow. Today.”
Clay shook his head. “We’ll see, E.”
“Did you find Alec?”
Clay’s expression was grim. “He’s here. The Gary police found him at a motel near an old school and a restaurant with a chicken on the roof. Sue had given him too many Phenobarbitals and he slipped into a coma. They airlifted him here.”
Ethan fell back against the pillow, the very word a blow. “Coma?”
“Reversible, Ethan,” Clay said. “The doctors are filtering his blood. They say they’ve had good success with Phenobarbital overdoses in children his age. He should be awake in three or four hours. Randi and Stan are with him now. And, Ethan, they found Evie.”
Ethan was afraid to ask. “Alive?”
“Yeah. She was unconscious, but she woke up right after they got her here. Mia insisted they bring her here. She’s trying to keep everybody together.”
“Where is Mia?”
“Looking for Dana.”
Panic swelled again and with it the need to . . . do something. But he couldn’t even lift his head on his own. “Conway will kill her,” he whispered. “Dammit, Clay, she should have run. I told her to run. But she stayed.” His vision started to blur again and he closed his eyes. “Conway had the gun pointed right at my face. She was going to blow my head off, but Dana grabbed her arm.” A wave of fury swelled. “Why didn’t she run?”
“Maybe . . .” Clay cleared his throat. “Maybe she thought you were worth saving. The nurse is giving me a dirty look, so I’ll wait outside. Rest. I’ll be waiting for you to wake up.”
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 2:30 P.M.
“Anything?”
Mia glanced over at her lieutenant who leaned one shoulder against the wall next to the map of the city where pushpins marked all the places Sue Conway had been in the course of her miserable life. Lieutenant Marc Spinnelli’s face was concerned, his eyes kind. Mia gritted her teeth and dragged her eyes back to the map. Right now, she didn’t need concern or kindness. Right now, I need these damn pushpins to rearrange themselves in an arrow, pointing to where Sue Conway’s got my friend. But of course they didn’t.
“No. All Evie could tell us was some kids came in to smoke pot.”
“That narrows it down a bit,” Spinnelli said dryly. “Mia, you’re weaving on your feet and this case is too close now. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll have Murphy cover for you.”
Mia looked over her shoulder to where Abe was diligently reviewing the old case files. “Abe’s still here, I’m still here. I’m sticking, Marc. But thanks.”
Abe looked up with a frown. “I keep coming back to the time gap—the two days where Sue was unaccounted for right before her arrest. The anonymous call came on a Tuesday reporting a ring using a child to smuggle drugs. We know now the anonymous caller was Randi Vaughn. Narcotics found a neighbor who could match visitors to the apartment with suspected dealers from a photo array.”
“That was Jackie Williams, the woman who was murdered yesterday,” Mia said.
“Well, that Wednesday they got a warrant for Randi’s apartment and found the stacks of empty baby formula cans, but no coke. That night they picked up Donnie Marsden and six other men in Marsden’s apartment, all cutting coke into dime bags. They found two cans of formula packed tight with coke that they hadn’t even started cutting, but Sue wasn’t there. Marsden and the others swore they didn’t know who she was or anything about a baby.”
“Even though they were surrounded by baby formula cans,” Spinnelli said dryly.
Abe slanted him a look. “Drug dealers lying? Tell me it isn’t so.” He riffled through the papers, found the one he was looking for. “Conway isn’t arrested until two days later. She came slinking up just after midnight on Friday and Jackie Williams called the cops.”
“She’d been hiding.” Mia blinked at the words in the report. “Where was she hiding?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The report doesn’t say. Narcotics was afraid she had a hiding place for the baby they hadn’t found yet—or that the baby was dead. They wanted to catch her with the child. They found her pulling the stove away from the wall, but she wasn’t looking for the baby, just for cash she’d stashed, which was gone.”
“It makes sense that she’d go back for money over her son,” Mia said. “Sue hid somewhere for two days—that’s symbolic. Let’s find out if the arresting officer remembers something that could help.” But before she could pick up her phone, Abe’s rang. “I’ll call,” Mia said, grabbing the old case file. “You get that.”
She’d rounded the other side of their desks to her chair when Abe abruptly stood up, sending his own chair rolling backward. “You’re kidding,” he said, motioning to Mia to wait. “We’ll meet you there.” He hung up with a grin. “Guess who just tried to break into the Vaughns’ room at the Excelsior? Donnie Marsden, the leader of Sue’s drug running ring. He had a hotel passkey. Murphy’s bringing him in as we speak.”
Spinnelli took the case file from Mia’s hands. “I’ll have someone track down the arresting officer. You two go find out what Marsden knows now that he didn’t know then.”
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 3:20 P.M.
Ethan stopped in the doorway of Alec’s room, grateful for Clay’s steadying hand on his back. His legs trembled beneath him, but they would hold him up. So many had paid such a price for Sue Conway’s revenge. Grimly
Ethan wondered how much more they’d have to pay before this was over. How much he’d have to pay. Dana was still gone.
But Alec was safe. Evie was safe. And Ethan knew that’s exactly how Dana would choose it to be. She hadn’t gone meekly, like a lamb to slaughter. Or blindly, as if it meant nothing. She’d gone kicking and screaming and fighting. Afraid. A shudder convulsed him and he had to lean against the door frame for support, his skin had gone clammy and cold.
“Don’t think about it,” Clay murmured. “For now focus on the fact that Alec is alive. The doctor says he’ll make a full recovery, even though he doesn’t look like it now.”
What Alec looked like was a small ghost lying there in the bed, his skin nearly as white as the sheets. Tubes seemed to run everywhere. But his chest did move, shallowly. Stan was standing to one side, his expression unreadable. Randi looked up from her place at Alec’s side and gave Ethan a watery smile. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” she said softly.
“I tried to tell him that,” Clay said. “He doesn’t listen. He wouldn’t even sit in the wheelchair I appropriated.”
Ethan ignored them both, slowly shuffling to the bed, careful not to jar his right arm, immobilized in a sling. “I needed to see him myself,” Ethan murmured. He sank into a chair, light-headed from the trek to the pediatric ward. “He woke up?”
“For a little while,” Randi said. “The doctor said he’d sleep a lot still. Ethan . . .” Her voice wobbled. “How can I thank you?”
Ethan looked up at her, took her hand, and squeezed it. “You just did. We’re clear.”
Stan cleared his throat, his words forced and hard. “Thank you, Ethan.”
They were the first words Stan had spoken to him since that night on the dock at Wight’s Landing when he’d begged his help. Do it for Richard, he’d said. You owe him that much. But sitting here, looking at this child, Ethan knew it had been as much about what he’d owed Alec than what he’d owed Richard. He’d been given a responsibility he’d neglected. For two years he’d been Alec’s godfather, but he’d wasted that time. He’d claimed that Stan wouldn’t let him be part of Alec’s life, but that had been an excuse. The truth was he had closed the door to his emotions. Until Dana had opened it back up.
