Dean had to have additional faith Olsen was the only bad apple. He was going to kill the man, right after he killed Burnett.
****
“We’ve identified a couple of places where they might be holding Amy.” Randy laid the city map flat on the table in one of the back rooms of Grand Masters. It was low tech, but they had cobbled this together quickly, and the paper map was the only way they could all get the lay of the land. The decadently decorated room, shades of red predominating, was a strange back drop to their task. There was no hint of sex and passion, but rather the lust for revenge and payback—his crew took Amy’s kidnapping personally. Dean was struck, not for the first time, at the loyalty and familial atmosphere evidenced by his crew. They huddled around to view the two small Xs marked in red on the map.
“Got a tip that someone closely resembling Burnett was here.” He stabbed the X to the north with his pen, the ink making little blots across the paper. Dean thought they looked like blood drops and sweat popped out on his brow and his hands fisted as he again fought the fear, fear that would cripple his decision making. He thought hard.
“Any chance he’s decoying?”
“Could be.” Randy didn’t say it—he didn’t have to. It was what they had.
Enrico spoke up. “The other place. He would stand out like a sore thumb there. It is primarily a Hispanic neighborhood and there is no word that a white man is moving in to assume our action. I would have heard.”
The youngest member of his crew was turning out to be priceless, Dean mused. He nodded. “Do we know if it’s Burnett for sure and not some other usurper?”
“He became known after the thing with Amy, boss. Those pictures kinda blew his cover and they were circulated—not of Amy, just him. We provide protection for two businesses in that area, and the woman who owns one of them saw him. She doesn’t miss much.”
It pained Dean to think about how part of those businesses’ profits went to pay his crew’s salaries. He made certain to divert much of it back into the communities it came from, kind of like taxes for infrastructure, but it still rankled. That was the price of business, however, and he took some comfort in knowing he was a far kinder and benevolent crime boss than his predecessor.
“And no sign of any influx of soldiers.”
Randy shook his head. “Nothing. A really low profile. If the competition is who we anticipate, then that’s probably the best plan. If it was Unez, there would be movement and noise on the street.”
And Amy would probably be dead. He couldn’t quite stifle the shudder that ran through him. At least he was dealing with a professional—teaching lessons and retribution weren’t likely to be high on the agenda, although he’d initially fallen prey to imagining those very things perpetrated against his wife and unborn child. Shadow-man wanted his business, but wasn’t yet willing to cause a bloodbath to get it, although Dean had no doubt he would if ransoming didn’t work. Well, that unnamed man would drown in blood today. Dean was taking the war right to the fucker’s doorstep. Keep your shit together. Cool, calm and collected is going to get her back.
For a moment he wondered if his crew would willingly trade their “jobs” for Amy, then dismissed the question. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to think about that now, or test each of them on varying degrees of loyalty. He was going to get Amy back. Then he and Randy could take their women and work the legal side of the business, or move and set up elsewhere. Dean had no call to spend a penny of his legitimate salary, living large on the money the business garnered, keeping up his image. So his investments had built up very nicely over the years and he was pretty comfortable. Randy was no slouch in that regard, either. And Dean had a flair for running a variety of businesses or putting people in place to do it in his stead. Regardless, he was out of this as soon as Amy came home.
Dropping his head, he took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes to focus. Even if shadow-man wasn’t caught, he was out of this. Enough. Amy deserved better. Randy caught his eyes as they opened, and the message was clear—Randy was out, too. Dean nodded, a quick and silent agreement. Now they just had to deal.
The plan was solid after a few tweaks and considerable discussion. His crew slipped out the various exits and went to take their positions. If he was wrong, and Amy was being held elsewhere, they were fucked. But he felt in his gut that his luck was going to hold this time around. It had to.
“Dean?” Randy was folding up the map, ramming it into the pocket of his jacket.
“What?”
“He has no call to hurt her. But if he wants to trade…”
“I’ll make my call if and when that happens. If our guy is coming to make the push himself, then we’ll see. If not, Burnett goes away. Forever. But Amy’s coming home, and then I’ll take care of what needs to get taken care of.”
“And if one of the crew wants to take your place?”
Dean shrugged. “He can try. No need for anyone to know about me, or that you knew.”
“Men like you don’t retire, Dean. Not from this. So they won’t believe it.”
“First time for everything, Randy. We don’t have to stay here. Lots of other places to live.”
Soberly, Randy nodded, then reached to the small of his back to pull out his weapon, transferring it to his pocket. There was no need for further talk—show time. They moved as one toward the door.
Chapter Seventeen
“Get your ass in there, cunt.” Olsen shoved her hard, hand in the small of her back. Amy was ready for it, setting her feet the instant he dragged her from the van. He casually kicked her when she resisted. She managed to stay upright. With her hands cuffed she wouldn’t be able to easily break her fall and somehow had to protect the baby. Olsen snarled and moved around her, slapping her face. Her head snapped sideways with the force of the blow.
“Olsen!” A vaguely familiar voice pierced the air like the crack of a whip.
She had the satisfaction of seeing her captor’s face pale before he stepped out of her line of vision.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Saul Burrows, Burnett, strode forward.
“You didn’t have to listen to her bullshit all the way here,” Olsen blustered. “She’s got a fucking mouth on her and an attitude that rubs me the wrong way. Thinks she’s so fucking special.”
“You were told to bring her here, not to harm her. She’s wearing cuffs, for fuck’s sake.”
Olsen shrugged. “I’m gonna park this piece of shit somewhere a long distance away. If you don’t need me for some other fucking little thing.”
“You do that. And come back. We’re expecting that someone and I want everyone here. We’re shorthanded, what with how quick this was put together.”
“Yes, Sir!” The insubordination was evident to Burnett, judging by the look on his face, but he didn’t respond. Instead he turned to her.
“Come inside, Amy. I heard you were pregnant, but didn’t know how far along you were?”
She didn’t respond to the implied question, or his attempt to establish some kind of chummy connection. “Why am I here?”
“Come inside and we’ll talk about it. I’ll get those cuffs off.” He looked much the same to her now jaundiced eye, middle aged, soft around the middle, pale skin, unremarkable features. Despite the circumstances, he still didn’t feel like he was dangerous, which was probably why he’d fooled her in the first place. She allowed him to take her elbow in one clammy hand and escort her through the door, wondering if she’d ever pass through it again alive. Terror roiled in her chest and she fought tears—for her baby. And for Dean.
They walked down a long hallway, before turning into a small room equipped with a cot and a chair, and to her horror, she saw a chemical toilet tucked into the far corner. Burnett urged her forward and stepped around her to fuss with the cuffs. The rigid circles of the metal dropped away from her wrists. She instantly rubbed the flesh marked by the confinement, then placed both hands on her belly, hunching slightly forw
ard as she did so. Burnett backed away and was out the door, the sound of the lock being thrown making her spirits sink even further.
Having a choice between the cot and the chair, she chose the chair, moving to set it against the wall so she could watch the door, pretending her knees weren’t weak. Her quick initial glance ascertained the lack of a window, so this was either a storage closet or a room built within a room. She suspected the former, because the overhead light was a light bulb screwed into a ceramic base and the light switch was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t a super spy or a television actor, so wouldn’t be finding a magical way out of here. And they were clearly planning to keep her awhile, if that toilet meant anything. There was no running water, only a box of wipes set on the lid. The chair was uncomfortable, and the cot appeared to have just a blanket and a small pillow. It was like a jail cell, only without the cacophony of sound. At that moment she would have welcomed the noise to distract her.
Time passed slowly and checking her watch every couple of seconds didn’t make it pass any quicker. Her lower back twinged and she couldn’t sit any longer. Regrouping, she got up and walked around the room, carefully examining the walls, running her fingers over the ragged seams. It still felt like a closet. Her next thought was in regard to a camera—depending on how long they’d been planning this they might have installed a microphone, too.
Nearly an hour went by before she was convinced there was no one watching, her neck cricked from studying every inch of the ceiling and walls. It was both a relief and kind of depressing. They weren’t interested in spying on her, but neither were they worried about her breaking out. Her belly rumbled and her back ached dully. With no sustenance in sight Amy slipped off her shoes and lay on her side on the cot, placing the blanket across her feet. She felt totally crappy, but she kept her mind focused on Dean finding her and taking her home without a segue into that mind numbing terror.
Movement outside the door had her sitting upright and feeling around with her toes for her shoes. It swung open and another man stood there, a paper sack under one arm and a piece of dark fabric in the other. She stared at him, trying to commit his face to memory but was stymied. Were all the new bad guys like Burnett? Vague and non memorable? A heavy gold ring adorned the middle finger of his right hand so she took note of that.
Without a word, ring man advanced into the little room and squatted to set the sack on the floor. He draped the cloth over the top of it, a black, closely woven something. He never took his eyes off her the whole time, but she couldn’t read anything in his face except caution. When he spoke she flinched.
“When I return, I’ll knock and you put the hood over your head—”
“Why?” Probably it wasn’t a good idea to interrupt, for the caution was replaced by faint annoyance, although ring man kept talking as though she hadn’t spoken.
“Someone will come to speak with you. If you see him you will never leave this place. The hood, Miss Copeland. He hasn’t made war on women, especially pregnant women, but you’d better not see his face.”
Motherfucker. Okay, then. “I’ll put on the hood,” she said immediately. “You’ll knock first.”
Pale lips twitching, ring man nodded. “That I will. You will remain seated on the bed. Speak when spoken to.”
Shades of paternalism. Amy nodded, adding, “I understand.”
His hand reached into his pocket and in spite of herself she flinched again. He pulled out a phone and almost casually took a picture of her and then another. Then he scanned her, impersonally. “Give me the bracelet,” he ordered.
Hesitating, but only because it felt like she was giving up her last connection to Dean, Amy calmed herself. Her connection to Dean resided below her heart and swelled her belly. Ring man narrowed his eyes just a trifle and morphed from looking bland and unassuming to terrifying. She fumbled with the catch and stood with the links of gold dangling from her finger tips.
“Set it on the bed and move to the corner.” He obviously was good at this kidnapping thing, so Amy did as she was told, watching him advance to snatch up her bracelet as she retreated.
Gesturing to the paper sack he turned on his heel and left the room, the door shutting quietly but firmly behind him, the lock engaging.
Moving back to the bed, Amy slipped her shoes on and went to the bag, eying it with caution. She first tucked the hood under her shirt, shoving a corner under the waistband of her pants—she didn’t want it across the room when the knock came. A quick look inside determined the sack held a bottle of water and an apple. She decided to use the facilities, such as they were, then eat before the unknown man arrived. She figured she’d need all of her concentration and energy at that time.
****
As he swung into his truck, Dean’s phone signalled an email and he yanked it out. Few people had this address. It was from an anonymous sender, but the subject line read Amy, and he impatiently waited for the two attachments to download. Randy’s cell rang and his lieutenant answered it. Dean tried to focus on that conversation as the vision of Amy sitting on a narrow cot filled his phone screen, hands folded on her lap, staring at whomever was taking the picture. She looked tense but not terrified—whoever marked her face was going to pay dearly. Dean knew she was holding it together but his bowels turned to water even as his heart promised murder.
“Okay. No point in staying back. Message delivered. Go to…” Randy rattled off an address then concluded the conversation with a grunt. He put away his phone and looked at Dean.
“Somebody tossed a parcel on your steps, Dean. Mike didn’t get a look at the driver, but did get a license plate.” He pulled his laptop out and hit some keys. “Searching now. Still connected to wifi. Good thing.”
Knowing his voice came from somewhere around his boots, Dean asked, “What the fuck was in the parcel, Randy?”
“It was an envelope with a gun in it. And Amy’s bracelet. I don’t figure the gun was just to give it heft.” The other man didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes glued on his computer screen.
A message—we have her and we will kill her unless… Dean swallowed and nodded. The bracelet was on Amy’s wrist in both the cell phone pics, proof they had her. “What’ve you got?”
“It’s a rental. License picture loading now. Fuck me. Fucking Olsen.”
Dean thought hard again. “Burnett and Olsen. Why just the two of them? No way should they have put Olsen back in the spotlight again. Too visible.”
Randy shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense,” he admitted.
Dean came to a conclusion. “They moved before they were ready. I have no clue why—but it forced Olsen’s hand.”
With a nod, Randy carried on with Dean’s assumption. “So they took her prematurely and are undermanned. But something’s coming down right quick if they sent you that email.”
“You figure it’s our guy?”
“Has to be. So that means he’s not ready, either. But he’ll bring people with.”
Dean thought it through. “Maybe not. If they’re scrambling, he’s not ready. We go now.”
“We should wait on the crews’ take, buddy.”
“They’ll have to surveil in the time it takes us to get there.”
“You may not get our guy if—”
“Doesn’t matter.” Dean cut him off and turned the engine over, pulling out into the street with a squeal of tires. “We miss him, tough shit. She’s worth more to me. Time I put her first—more than time.”
Randy was silent.
There really wasn’t anything more to say.
****
A sharp rap on the door had Amy fumbling the hood over her head, the cloying fabric enveloping her with ominous ease, clinging to her mouth and nose. She was panicked, and struggling to sit upright on the edge of the bed, while being robbed of sight made her nauseous. Her back screamed with pain and a sudden cramp took her breath. She suffered through it and tried to identify the number of people in the room with her.
“Miss
Copeland.” A deep, smooth voice sounded directly in front of her and she heard what had to be the chair dragging across the floor. She made herself nod, her mouth suddenly dry as yet another cramp rippled near her groin. Shit. Braxton Hicks? She’d memorized such weird trivia from reading those pregnancy books.
“Amy?” The new guy was trying to get her attention.
Nodding again, she punctuated it with a raspy, “I’m Amy Copeland.”
“She’s Chambray’s woman.” Ring man’s voice alerted her to his presence. “She doesn’t seem to know anything. I—”
“So, you were Dean Chambray’s woman?” The new guy spoke right over ring man.
Ice formed around her heart. Was that past tense? God. “I am.” Her voice sounded really loud in her ears, yet muffled at the same time. Sweat formed around her temples and she longed to yank the stifling fabric off. Her hands twitched and she impulsively tucked them under her thighs. A cramp rolled across her lower belly, that one a little stronger.
In a conversational tone, new guy said, “Does he talk to you about his business?”
“No.”
“But you know what it is he does.”
“Generalities only.” God, she felt terrible, her head pounding like a sledgehammer. Perspiration trickled down her spine. This was more than a reaction to being kidnapped and held for whatever.
“No matter. If he wants you back in one piece, he’ll fold his tent.”
Forever (Eternity #1) Page 27
