“And the bank doesn’t even open until nine.”
“If it opens at all. We’re all gonna be ass deep in this blizzard by then.”
The end of the world, Sorenstein had said. Her world.
“I’ll go,” M.C. said. “Arrange the drop, I’ll--”
“You’ll what? Break into the Federal Reserve Bank?” Kitt signaled Baker. “Time to call in the Bureau.”
Wednesday
6:10 a.m.
M.C. SAT AT HER DESK. She held onto her emotions as tightly as she could. At any minute, she could lose that grip. And spin out of her freaking mind. Totally lose it.
Progress had slowed to a crawl. The feds had taken over, shut them out. Shut her out. Luckily, Kitt and Baker were still on scene; information trickled through.
The Feds had been able to make things happen, although the timing was going to be tricky. Arrangements with the bank had been made, the highway department would assure the armored truck’s safe arrival at McCormack’s. The local suits would take it from there. Marked bills. Tracking device on the package. The agent making the drop. Snipers in place. All made nearly impossible by the blizzard.
The storm was the true wild card in this one.
She’d been unable to get the location of the drop out of Kitt. She understood both the need for secrecy and her partner’s position. But that didn’t mean she liked or accepted it.
Sal arrived. He nodded in her direction, then retreated to his office. Everybody was hunkering down. Waiting for the emergency calls to start flowing.
While the suits had been busy worrying about the money, the drop and making certain the perp was apprehended, she’d worried about Erik. Where he was. Whether he was protected from the elements, alive or dead. Or near death. Waiting for her to come.
Because he believed in her. Her abilities.
And in her feelings for him. Even when she didn’t believe in them herself.
“Good morning, Detective. Ready for our snow-a-geddon?”
She looked blankly up at the pathologist. “Frances?”
“Last time I checked.”
She didn’t smile and he cocked an eyebrow. “I have my report on Whitney Bello.”
That penetrated. “And?”
“Water in her lungs. Dirt and other organisms as well. Still waiting on toxicology.” He handed her a file. “I thought you’d appreciate a hard copy. Didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Thank you.” She stared at it a moment, then back up at him. “What’s your excuse for the hour? Chief put you on call?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Knocking a few out before the world comes to a screeching halt. Hope to God I haven’t stayed too long.”
“Better get out of here, then. If you get in trouble, call me. My cousin owns a plow service.”
He thanked her, then turned to leave. After a couple of steps, he looked back. “I’ve got a feeling about this one.”
She frowned. “The storm?”
“No. About Bello. This case. There’s more to it.”
The image of the crescent-shaped bruise popped into her head. “Something come up during--”
“Autopsy?” He shook his head. “Nothing but the fact she was a healthy young woman with her whole life ahead of her.”
After he’d left, M.C. lowered her gaze to the autopsy report. A healthy young woman, her whole life ahead of her.
Where there was smoke, there was fire. If it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, it was a duck. All those old clichés were clichés for a reason. They were almost always true.
Exactly why she had been certain Dickey Larson had been their guy. He’d been eliminated as a suspect when the ransom call had come while he’d been in custody. He could have an accomplice, but none of them thought so. Even her.
Unable to sit still, she jumped to her feet. Thoughts racing, she began to pace. Bello turns up dead. Bello worked for Erik. A day later Erik’s kidnapped.
A coincidence? Or smoke?
M.C.’s thoughts turned to the boyfriend. Bradley Rudd. He’d lied. About Bello never talking about her boss. Pretending he couldn’t remember the name of the place she worked. Those evasions and untruths hadn’t seemed important at the time.
She went still. They did now.
Why would he lie about something ostensibly so inconsequential? To distance himself from Kids in Crisis. From Erik. Of course.
The son of a bitch had been under their noses all along.
7:40 a.m.
BRADLEY RUDD LIVED IN A small brick home on Latham. One story. Eight hundred square feet if she was being generous. There were a lot of houses like this one on the west side. She should know, she’d grown up not that far from here.
She rang the bell, then pounded. After several minutes of that, Rudd answered. He looked like someone had used his face as a punching bag. Two black eyes. Split lip. Swollen jaw.
“Detective Riggio,” she said. “You remember me, don’t you?”
“Go away.” Before he could slam on her, she had her gun out and in his face. “We either talk here or downtown. Your choice.”
“I don’t know what happened to Whitney--”
“But I think you do.”
“Go to hell.”
She was already there. “What happened? Did she catch on? Realize you were pumping her for information? Is that why you killed her?”
“I’m calling the cops. This is harass--”
“Call’em, stud. You think anybody’s coming out in this shit? It’s just you, me and my friend Mr. Glock.”
Fear raced into his eyes. He stepped back from the door and she slipped inside. Suitcases, she saw. Packed and ready.
“Going somewhere?”
“Vacation.”
“Tell me about Erik Sundstrand.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her control slipped a fraction. “Game’s over, Rudd. You used Whitney to obtain information about Sundstrand. She either caught on to you or simply ceased being useful, so you killed her.”
“You’re crazy! I don’t know--”
She totally lost it. She charged him, knocking him backward. In a flash she was on top of him, gun’s barrel pressed to his battered temple. “You tell me the fucking truth or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”
He crumbled. Started shaking and crying. “I didn’t do it. I swear, I didn’t . . . I liked Whitney . . . it was his idea. I introduced her to him and when he found out she worked for Sundstrand--”
“Who?” She pressed the gun tighter. “Who is he?”
“My step-brother Chuck. He hates Sunndstrand. After Wet ‘n Wild closed down, he worked for SunCorp. Only a few months. Sundstrand fired him.”
Rudd was blubbering now. “All I had to do was try to get some information from her. Pretend to be super-interested in her job. Ask questions.”
“Why’d he kill her?”
“She caught me going through her purse. Looking for her SunCorp I.D.”
“Then what?”
“She flipped out. Broke up with me.”
“But you said you talked to her Sunday?”
“Chuck did. Not me. Arranged a meeting--”
“Why would she meet him at the river?”
“He’s my brother. He told her he wanted to talk to her about me.”
And she’d agreed. Women could be so stupid when it came to men.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “He told me he would patch things up between her and . . . I didn’t know,” he said again. “Until you and your partner came into Spanky’s. Then I confronted him.”
His voice cracked. “He laughed at me. Called me a pussy and told me if I said anything to anyone, he’d kill me.”
“But you’re talking now.”
“I’m not that guy! I’m not . . . like him. He’s got Sundstrand. Not me.”
“Where does he have him stashed?”
“I don’t know.”
She pressed on the barrel. “Bul
lshit!”
He was sobbing now. “I don’t, I swear!”
“Last name?”
“What? I don’t--”
“Chuck’s last name! What is it?”
“Same as mine. Rudd.”
7:45 a.m.
M.C. DIALED KITT FROM THE Explorer. “I’ve got the kidnapper’s name,” she said. “Chuck Rudd.”
“Rudd? Wasn’t that--”
“Bello’s boyfriend’s name? Yeah. It’s his step-brother. He killed Bello when she caught on to them. Brad Rudd swears he doesn’t know where Erik is. Says his involvement started and stopped with Bello. The step-brother lives with his old man.” She rattled off the address. “Go get him. Find out where Erik is.”
“Wait! Where’s the boyfriend?”
“Handcuffed to a support in his basement. Waiting for you to pick him up.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Acting on a hunch.”
7:55 a.m.
THE FIRST OF THE SNOW had hit the ground and melted. That had been hours ago. Now, M.C. faced a white nightmare. The snow fell so heavily, she couldn’t see five feet in front of her, let alone drive across town.
She had an idea where Erik was. And if she was right, he was exposed to the elements.
“After Wet ‘n Wild closed down, he went to work for Sundstrand.”
Wet ‘n Wild. A westside water park. Unable to compete with the Parks and Recreation Department’s bigger Magic Waters, it’d gone belly up. She’d driven by the abandoned park just the other day, it’s water slides like hulking skeletons against the gray sky.
The perfect place to stash a kidnap victim.
Or hide a body.
No. Erik was alive. And every minute counted.
She peered through the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up. She couldn’t chance doing this on her own and ending up in a ditch. Time to call in the reinforcements.
She dialed her cousin Nikki. “Nik, it’s M.C.”
“Mary Catherine? This is a--”
“Is Vinnie home?”
“Vinnie? Lord, no. This blizzard’s an early boon for business. He’s been out plowing and salting all night.”
“I need to reach him, Nik. It’s an emergency.”
8:25 a.m.
VINNIE HAD COME FOR HER, few questions asked. When family called, you answered. It was as simple as that. When the huge dump truck had rolled to a stop in front of her house, she’d darted out, looking like a baby blue abominable snowman. Snowmobile bib and jacket, boots, Glock nestled securely in her shoulder holster, extra magazine in the jacket’s zipper pocket. And when she’d directed him to the abandoned water park out on Old Trask Bridge Road he’d said nothing, just hunkered down in his seat and tightened his grip on the wheel.
She was operating on instinct and adrenalin. By focussing on the next moment, her next step. She forced everything else, all the what-ifs, out of her mind.
Even in the heavy truck, the industrial grade plow blade clearing their way, their progress was slow. And as the roads became more rural; their progress became tortoise-like. It was all she could do to keep from screaming in frustration.
Vinnie carried emergency gear: thermal blankets, camping heater, emergency radio, food and water. Even plows got stuck sometimes.
Not this time. She balled her hands into tight fists. Not until she found Erik.
“You want to talk about it?”
M.C. glanced at him. He resembled her brothers and a lot of the guys she’d grown up with. Dark hair and eyes, olive tone skin, the same macho swag. And the same big heart.
“No.”
He ignored her. “This Sundstrand guy, he somebody special to you?”
A simple question. One that could be answered just as simply. Yes. Or no. But suddenly, simple wasn’t an option. It was complicated. Very.
She tried to tell him so; her throat closed over the words. Her eyes burned. She blinked against the tears. She would not cry. She had promised herself. Adapt or die. Just like Sorenstein had said.
But now, all that didn’t matter.
They had arrived.
8:55 a.m.
“THIS DOESN’T LOOK PROMISING,” Vinnie said, peering out the windshield between wiper swipes.
It didn’t. No plow other than this one had been anywhere near the park. A winter wonderland of undisturbed, fresh snow.
If there had been human activity out here, it’d been before the snow had begun to fall.
They sat outside the main gate. It was secured with a heavy chain and padlock. She stared at it, stomach sinking as she realized she hadn’t thought to bring a bolt cutter. She shifted her gaze. Ten foot fencing circled the park, the fencing topped with barbed wire. Mountainous snowdrifts obscuring whole sections.
She looked at Vinnie. “Can you take it down?”
Vinnie hesitated only a moment. “You bet your ass.” He raised the plow blade to eye level, then shifted into reverse. The truck rumbled back, then he stopped, met her eyes. “Seat belt.”
M.C. fastened hers and held on. He shoved the truck into gear and hit the gas. Even with the harness her head snapped forward on impact with the fence. The screech of shredding metal filled her ears. The groan and pop of snapping wires. The truck shuddered to a stop.
M.C. didn’t wait to confer with Vinnie. She unfastened her belt and launched out of the cab. The snow was thigh deep in parts. Heavy and wet. She slogged through it, heading to the center of the park and it’s only substantial building. She’d visited Wet ‘n Wild once, with her nephew. He’d fallen and cut open his chin. The infirmary had been cool inside, she remembered being grateful for the air conditioning.
She heard Vinnie behind her. He called her name. She glanced back, saw that he carried blanket and first aid kit. Bless the man. She’d owe him big for this one.
M.C. motioned him to follow, then pressed on. When she reached the cinderblock structure, she was sweating. Another padlock, she saw. This one easily handled with two shots.
“Erik!” she shouted, stepping inside, weapon out. A welcome area and sales office, she remembered. Empty now. She swung right. A short hallway. The infirmary had been at the end, restrooms between. “Erik!” she called again, the silence terrifying. “Where are you?”
A shuffling sound came from the men’s room. She bit back a cry, forcing herself to go slow, exercise caution. Anyone could be behind that door.
She eased it open. Erik. Wrapped in a bloodied blanket. Blindfolded and gagged. Chained to one of the stalls.
But alive.
The cry of relief spilled from her lips. She ran to him, knelt down and went to work on the gag and blindfold. “It’s okay,” she whispered over and over, like a mantra. “You’re okay. It’s going to be fine.”
The gag came off first, then the blindfold. She realized her cheeks were wet, that Vinnie was standing in the doorway and that Erik needed medical attention. The timing couldn’t be worse, but she didn’t give a damn.
She gently cupped his face in her palms. “Yes,” she said, looking him dead in the eyes. “I love you. And yes, I will marry you.”
#####
ELECTRIC BLUE
Alex Kava
Chapter 1
Gulf of Mexico
Pensacola, Florida
FBI AGENT MAGGIE O’DELL STARED at the helicopter. She stood so close she could feel the vibration of the engine even as it idled. The soft, slow whir of the blades made her nauseated, though she could barely hear it above the gusts of wind. She watched the crew methodically run through the last of their flight checks and she still couldn’t believe she had agreed to this.
It had been a year since her last excursion, and she had promised herself never, ever again to set foot inside another helicopter. Yet here she was, all decked out in a flight suit. It was red-orange, what she knew the Coasties affectionately called a “mustang.” The suit was designed to provide flotation and was also fire retardant. Neither of which offered much comfort to Maggie. This time
her suit was complete with a helmet with an internal communication system. The ICS was a step up. Last time they hadn’t let her communicate with them.
She glanced over at her partner, R.J. Tully. He stood back about a hundred feet from the helipad, where he’d be safe and sound from the downwash when they lifted off. He gave her a forced grin and a thumbs-up. Maggie still felt like she had drawn the short straw. Standing here with cockroaches gnawing in her stomach, she thought she might offer Tully rock/paper/scissors or a toss of a coin and not care how childish it sounded. But she had been up with this aircrew before. Somehow that made her win – or lose, depending on one’s perspective.
She needed to block out how the clouds had turned day into dusk though it was barely noon. Was that a raindrop she felt? How much longer before the sky burst open? She needed to stay focused and concentrate on the reason she and Tully were here.
A United States Senator’s family was missing – somewhere out at sea. Maggie and Tully’s boss, Assistant Director Raymond Kunze, who never met a politician he couldn’t be manipulated by, had sent his two agents to play fetch.
Okay, that wasn’t at all how Kunze had worded it, of course, but that was what it felt like to Maggie and Tully.
Kunze had been sending the two of them on odd missions for about two years now. And just when Maggie thought the shelf life on his reign of punishment would expire, he came up with yet another assignment or errand.
The storm added urgency to their mission. Maggie and Tully had barely escaped D.C. before the snow began falling. But they hadn’t escaped the storm front. The monster system looped all the way down from the Midwest to the Panhandle of Florida, then back up the eastern coastline.
Down here in Florida it was only just beginning, taking the form of angry, black thunderheads. It had rained all the way from the airport. Seventeen to twenty inches were predicted during the next forty-eight hours. They were in a lull. In the distance Maggie could hear a rumble of thunder, a reminder that the calm would not last long. As if on cue, the pilot, Lieutenant Commander Wilson, gestured for her to hurry up and come aboard. Then he climbed inside.
Storm Season ~ One Storm Page 5
