by Karen Rose
Huxley followed Lou into her office. “Did Lewis help us?”
“No.” Lou rubbed her forehead. “Dammit, Huxley, Dana Dupinsky was such a nice person, too. A little too much of a Joan of Arc at times, but really, really nice. I think she and Ethan Buchanan would have had a good shot at something.”
“You think she’s dead, then?”
“If they don’t find her soon, she sure as hell will be.”
Dora appeared with a bottle of Tylenol. “Call on line three. It’s that Sheriff Eastman.”
Lou leaped for the phone. “This is Sheriff Moore. What happened?”
“Act of God,” Eastman replied. “Out of the goodness of his heart, Lewis wants you to have his sister’s cell phone number. It’s the only other thing he knows about her.”
“I’ve got a pencil, give me the cell number.”
Chicago, Friday, August 6, 6:05 P.M.
“Police!” Mia followed the tactical team down the stairs and through the inner doors to a black cavern. Not a single beam of light seeped in from the outside. One of the officers found a light switch, but no light appeared. They fanned out, taking shelter behind support beams and anything else large enough to shelter a body. Another officer shone a light around, finding the ceiling light. It had been shot out. So one of the shots hit the light, not a person. The flashlight illuminated the floor in a two-foot-wide swath, stopping when it came to a body lying on the floor.
Mia let her breath go when she saw it was a man. “Dana?” she called. Praying for an answer. A moan. Something. Nothing. Disappointment speared deep.
The leader of the tactical team appeared at her side. “We’re going to get infrared goggles,” he said quietly. “Then we can see her.”
Mia looked around, her eyes struggling with the darkness. “We’ll stay here.”
Dana’s breaths came fast and shallow. I hurt. Her ribs and back ached from Sue’s kicks, her face from her punches. But all the pain seemed like nothing compared to the cold pressure of her own gun jammed against the base of her skull. They were in a back corner of the basement now, her cheek pressed into the thin chicken wire of a storage stall. At one time families had stored their belongings here. If Mia didn’t hurry, Dana would die here. Sue certainly had nothing to lose at this point.
Sue stood behind her, her body taut, her breathing soundless, her free hand closed around Dana’s throat. They were cornered. Mia and the police covered the only exit. How careless of Sue, Dana thought numbly. Choosing a scene for her final revenge with only one way out. Let’s see her adopt, adapt, and improve her way out of this one.
Then abruptly Sue’s thumb was crushing her larynx and the gun shoved even harder against her skull. Sue’s breath was in her ear, her whisper barely audible, but the meaning clear just the same. “One sound and I blow your head off. On your knees.”
Trembling, Dana complied. The thumb eased off her larynx but the gun was still jammed against her head, cold and hard. Another slight rustle was followed by a sharp click. The tip of a very sharp blade took the place of Sue’s thumb against her throat. A switchblade. Dana’s stomach churned. The knife Sue had used to cut that guard’s fingers off. And to slit Lorenzano’s throat. That’s what she was going to do. She’s going to slit my throat. It would be soundless, unlike the crack of her .38.
She felt Sue’s silent chuckle, a slight bobbing of the blade against her throat, and then the sharp pressure was gone, only to reappear at the plastic band binding her ankles. One, two, three sharp slices with the knife and the plastic band binding gave way.
“Stand up,” came the breathless whisper. Sue’s forearm came around her neck and together with the upward pressure of the gun at her head, Dana rose to her feet. She stumbled at first, her feet numb from hours of disuse. Sue leaned in close. “I said walk.”
Dana walked, backward through the darkness, praying she didn’t stumble again. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. They were in a hallway and she could just make out the outline of elevator doors. A service elevator, she thought, just as she was jerked to the right, toward the wall. Toward another door.
So there is another exit. I should have known Sue wouldn’t be so careless.
It was all she had a chance to think before Sue pushed her through the door. The arm around her neck loosened as Sue grabbed the door to keep it from slamming shut. They were in a stairwell, light dimly visible five or six flights up. “Move,” Sue snarled and pushed her up a flight of steps. “I’m going out and you’re coming with me. I will kill you if you make one move, one sound I don’t like. Do you understand?”
Dana nodded once, but that was apparently good enough.
Mia’s chin jerked up at the sound. “What was that?”
Abe was moving quietly forward. “It came from the back.” He tucked his chin down to talk into the radio mike on his vest. “Cover the back exit. She may be coming that way.”
“We could really use those goggles,” Mia grumbled into her own mike as she followed Abe, shining her light along her path. “If she’s here, we’re sitting ducks with these lights.”
Spinnelli’s voice was tinny through her earpiece. “The goggles are on their way down. As far as we can see, she’s still in there, Mia. Keep back and turn off your lights.”
Both she and Abe flicked their lights off immediately. But neither one of them stopped moving. Dana was in here somewhere. Alive, she prayed. Please just be alive.
He’d crouched outside desert caves, waiting to storm terrorists armed and salivating to kill him. The moments before those cave raids had been harrowing. Terrifying. But nothing like the moments Ethan stood with his eyes glued to the basement entrance of that damn building. Waiting for a movement. Any indication of what was happening below.
But the minutes ticked by and there was nothing. Until one of the guys in black charged up the stairs. Beside him, Clay narrowed his eyes. “He’s getting night-vision goggles. It must be darker than a tomb down there.” He instantly flinched as he said it. “I’m sorry, E.”
Ethan barely heard him. He was staring at Lieutenant Spinnelli, standing off to one side, his face etched with worry. “Spinnelli knows what’s happening,” Ethan said desperately.
“And he won’t want us bothering him now,” Clay said firmly.
“He liked you, Clay. See if he’ll tell you something. I have to know if she’s alive or . . .”
Clay shot him a frustrated look. “All right.” He shrugged out of his suit coat and pulled his gun from his back waistband, shoved them at Ethan. “Hold these. I don’t want anybody shooting at me for carrying a concealed.”
Ethan watched Clay approach Spinnelli, point to the building, then back at Ethan, and Spinnelli wasn’t throwing him out. Clay was talking earnestly with the lieutenant. Ethan’s eyes were trained on Clay, watching his face for any sign of news, good or bad, when Clay’s phone started buzzing. Ethan jabbed his hand into Clay’s pocket and flipped the phone open, not stopping to check the ID. “Yeah?”
“Maynard?”
Ethan blinked. “Sheriff Moore?”
“Yeah. Why do you have Maynard’s phone? What happened to him?”
“Nothing. I’m just holding his coat. Why?”
“I have a message for Mitchell. I’ve been calling her cell and getting voice mail.”
Ethan straightened abruptly, ignoring the resulting pain shooting down his arm. “She and Reagan think they’ve cornered Conway. They can only get to Mitchell by radio now.”
“Then give her this.” Moore rattled out a phone number with a Maryland area code. “Bryce Lewis gave us Sue’s cell. Call me when the dust clears.”
“Thanks.” Ethan’s heart was beating faster, this time with hope. If Conway had her phone, the ringing might be enough to distract her, or at least locate her down there in the dark. His pulse was throbbing hard in his arm as he started toward Spinnelli, awkwardly shoving Clay’s gun into his back waistband as he walked.
Then all hell broke loose behind h
im.
“Hold it! I said hold it!”
Ethan stopped and spun toward the noise, grabbing his car when the ground continued to spin. CPD had surrounded the building, but all the activity now centered at one first-floor exit where two officers stood ready, their weapons locked and loaded.
It was Conway. And Dana. With a gun to her head, just like the last time he’d seen her.
Ethan’s gut pitched as his mind struggled to process the sight. Conway had Dana pulled tight against her body, her forearm against Dana’s throat. Dana was a human shield.
Conway took in the scene with a snarl. “Put down your guns or she dies.”
Ethan held his breath, waiting what seemed an eternity until both men slowly lowered their weapons and stepped back. Conway jerked Dana forward and Ethan’s heart stopped. One side of Dana’s face was black and bruised and her shirt was covered in blood. Her feet moved awkwardly and Conway dragged her the next few steps. “Move your feet, Dupinsky,” she growled. “Or I swear to God I will blow your fucking head off.”
Desperately Dana stared at the officers who held themselves motionless as they passed. “Clear this area,” Sue demanded. “Get on your radio and tell everyone to move out.” The hand holding the revolver jerked and Dana flinched.
She hadn’t seen him yet, Ethan realized. Neither had Conway. He stepped back slowly, not wanting to attract their attention. Crouching behind his car, he pulled Clay’s gun from his waistband and positioned it next to his foot. He could still see them. He could hear Dana’s stumbling steps. They were coming closer. He fumbled with Clay’s phone, dropping his eyes to the keypad long enough to punch the number Moore had given him. Then he dropped the phone, picked up the gun and stood.
And took Conway completely by surprise. Her pale blue eyes widened, her nostrils flared. She yanked her forearm harder against Dana’s throat. “Get back,” she hissed, “or I’ll kill her. I swear to God, I’ll kill her while you watch. I have absolutely nothing to lose.”
But I do, he thought. I have everything to lose. Dana was staring at him, but he didn’t let himself look in her eyes. Couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Instead he looked right into Conway’s pale blue eyes and murmured, “Dana, be ready.”
A second later Conway’s cell phone trilled sharply and her head moved to locate the noise, her hand bringing the revolver away from Dana’s head and around in a reflexive sweep that lasted lass than a second. A second in which Dana wrenched her shoulders and dropped to the ground like a lead weight, Conway’s revolver following her path.
Dana lay on the pavement panting, her body crunched, protecting her torso. Trembling with rage, Conway pointed the revolver straight down at Dana’s head. “Step. Back.”
Ethan calmly fired instead. One shot, to her upper arm. Quid pro quo, he thought as she staggered back, her low scream of pain tearing the air. As if in slow motion her hand dropped open, Dana’s .38 sliding to the pavement and the ground shook as no fewer than ten uniformed cops charged the scene, weapons drawn, all pointing at Conway.
Then everything sped up, Ethan dropping Clay’s gun on the trunk and himself to his knees beside Dana. Clumsily he pulled her to him with his good arm as she shuddered, her face buried against his chest, her hands still bound behind her back. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, cradling her against him, burying his face in her hair.
In the background he could hear officers shouting for EMTs, somebody reading Conway her rights in a voice loud enough to be heard over her vicious cursing. But none of it mattered at the moment. All he wanted to hear was Dana’s ragged breathing. All he wanted to feel was her pulse thrumming under his fingertips.
And it occurred to him that they’d been here before, a week ago. He’d been on his knees beside her, feeling for a pulse. Full circle. Right place, right time.
“Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear and she shuddered again, violently. But she nodded, pressing her forehead hard against his chest, sending icy pain down his arm. But the pain meant nothing. She was alive. That’s all that mattered. “Look at me, baby.”
She lifted her head and met his gaze, her eyes haunted, then glassy as they filled with tears. “Ethan,” she whispered. That was all, just his name. It was more than enough.
Gently he threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her unbruised cheek to his uninjured shoulder. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head and shuddered out a breath of his own as familiar figures converged. Reagan and Mitchell. Spinnelli and Clay. Mitchell saw Dana kneeling in his arms and picked up her pace, stopping to get a scalpel from one of the EMTs who was strapping a still cursing Conway onto a gurney. Crouching beside Dana, she quickly cut the plastic cuff from her wrists.
“You need to get to the hospital,” Mia said unsteadily.
Dana straightened her spine, rubbing her wrists reflexively. “No, I don’t. I’m not hurt.”
“You’ve . . .” Mia drew a deep breath. “You have blood on your shirt.”
“Not mine.” Dana looked over her shoulder at Conway being wheeled toward an ambulance. “Lorenzano was standing too close to me when she shot him. He was going to kill me, but she shot him first.” She looked up at Mia anxiously. “Where is Evie?”
“She’s fine, Dana,” Mia told her. “She got a bump on the head escaping this morning, but she should be home with Max and Caroline as we speak.”
“Good. And Randi Vaughn?”
Ethan took her wrists, gently massaging them one at a time. “With Alec in the hospital.”
She closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “She was going to . . .”
“We know,” Mia murmured. “We were afraid she’d do it to you.”
“She planned to.” Dana swallowed hard. “She planned to.”
“Well, she didn’t,” Reagan said kindly, going down on one knee next to her, offering his hand. “Can you stand up?”
Between them, Mia and Reagan pulled Dana to her feet, led her to an ambulance where an EMT waited to check her out. Clay offered his arm and Ethan pulled himself to his feet, not taking his eyes from her face.
“You did good, E,” Clay murmured. “How did you know the number?”
“Lou Moore called you with it.” He glanced at Clay from the corner of his eye. “She seemed upset when she thought something had happened to you.”
Clay bent his lips. “Interesting. Are you planning on relocating to Chicago, E?”
Ethan’s gaze was back on Dana’s face. The EMT was strapping a blood pressure cuff to her arm when she found Ethan staring and gave him a wry little smile. He hoped for the EMT’s sake that she wouldn’t need a shot. “And if I did?”
“I’d be happy for you.”
“And the business?”
“Details, E. Just details. You can do your computer bit from anywhere. We’ll work it out. Now, go to her. You know you want to.”
Ethan started walking.
“You should have your ribs x-rayed,” the EMT said and Dana frowned at him.
“Why? You won’t put a cast on broken ribs. They just have to heal on their own.”
He just sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to tell you that cut above your eye needs stitches?”
“None whatsoever,” she answered, staring at Ethan, who’d started walking her way. Nothing or no one on earth could look better than Ethan Buchanan. He saved my life.
“Where did you get the cut, Dana?” Mia asked. “There were lots of nasty things on the floor in there. You might need a tetanus shot.”
The word shot jerked her from her thoughts and Dana recoiled. “No shots.”
Ethan stopped at her side, a rueful smile on his face. “She’s afraid of needles.”
The EMT shook his head. “She appears to be physically fine. She could use stitches, but I won’t push it. She really should get a tetanus shot, though. Do what you can.” He packed up his kit. “Sign this form officially refusing services and you can go.”
Though her hands ached, Dana signed
quickly. “I’d like to get out of here.”
“And we have a report to write.” Mitchell dusted the top of Dana’s head and Ethan could see her hand tremble. “You’re dirty, kid. Go home and take a bath.” She walked over to supervise the ME’s office who’d come for Lorenzano’s body. Reagan watched her go, then gave Dana a hug.
“She cried,” he murmured. “She never cries, but when she found you’d been taken, she sat down and cried like a baby. Call me if you need anything,” Reagan said walking away, leaving Ethan and Dana finally alone. He walked her to his car and gently pushed her to sit sideways on the back seat, her feet on the pavement. Then he looked his fill, cataloging each of her features in turn. His mouth tightened. “She hit you.”
“She was in a bad mood when she lost Alec again,” she said lightly.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m stiff. I may have a bruise or two.” She took in the sling on his arm and the blood on his pants. “I think you win for worst injuries.”
“Minor,” he insisted and she shook her head with a smile.
“Tough guy.” She brushed at the dirt on her shirt. “I think we tie for being dirty though.”
Ethan took her left hand, then her right, inspecting them. “Clean,” he pronounced and she smiled, bigger this time.
“Yeah. For once in my life my hands are clean.” Their eyes locked and her smile faded. “You were right, you know.”
He took her chin in his hand and gently touched her chafed lips. “How?”
“It’s only a sacrifice when you know what you have to lose.”
He shuddered, thinking about what he’d nearly lost. “What would you have lost, Dana?”
“My family,” she whispered. “My friends. And you, Ethan. I would have missed you, so much.” She closed her eyes and he felt her tremble. “You said you’d gotten too close. You were right, Ethan. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I tried so hard not to meet anyone.” She looked up, her brown eyes turbulent. “I didn’t want to meet you.”
Ethan cleared his throat, but his voice still came out rough. “I remember.”
“But I did meet you, and that was fate. Now I get to choose my path.”
