"Whaddaya think you're doin'?"
Althea Montgomery looked up after a moment, meeting his scowling expression with one of calm assurance. "I'm bandaging the cuts you made, Mr. Jackson," she responded curtly.
He smiled, a cunning light in his eyes. "Deep, huh? I 'magine I could just about gut him if I'd a mind to."
She stared at him coldly. "How proud you must be of such a talent." She turned her attention back to Johnson, wiping away the blood.
"Yep. I'm good at what I do; that's a fact. But, now, Tay—he does lots of different things besides usin' a blade. Whoo-ee! That boy, he knows all kinds of ways to make a body scream…and bleed. Ain't none of 'em purty, but they all work." Jackson tapped his fingers on the countertop, winking at Hardin. Hardin didn't respond to Jackson's attempts to patch things up. At least, he realized he'd screwed up earlier, pulling that box cutter on him. Jackson was still going to die for that, when this was all over with.
"Hey, is he unconscious?"
"No." She reached for a tube of ointment and a rubber glove, then began to carefully smear it on Johnson's chest. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be, Mr. Jackson?" Her voice was calm and carried an unmistakable tone of dismissal.
Hardin smiled. She'd put Jackson in his place, if he'd only been smart enough to know it.
"Look at him," Jackson sneered, ignoring her.
John Caspar watched his partner. Mrs. Montgomery raised her eyes to Caspar's. "He's just sleeping, Officer," she murmured.
"Pathetic, ain't he?" Jackson kicked at the railing. "Guess I turned him into a bowl of Jell-O with three quick cuts, didn't I?"
Caspar glared at him. "It's easy to be tough when we're wearing cuffs, asshole. Take 'em off and we'll see who's a bowl of Jell-O when I get done with you."
Hardin leaned against the wall in silence.
Jackson watched Caspar. "I've thought the same thing myself…when I was wearin' those silver bracelets and your buddies was beatin' the bejesus outta me. Think you could wipe up the floor with me, eh, Caspar?" He chuckled to himself. "You might get your chance to try it…just before I off you, you freakin' pig."
"I'd die easy if I had the chance to take your sorry ass with me, punk."
"Just wait…" Johnson muttered, his eyes closed. "They'll be comin' soon, John."
"Leon," Hardin broke in, earning a scowl from Jackson. Hardin stepped forward. "Why don't you go rest a while? May be your last chance, if things pick up." He jerked his head wordlessly, indicating Jackson should go rejoin Brindle McAdoo. Jackson turned away sullenly as the old woman laid a wrinkled hand to Johnson's forehead.
The rookie cop opened his eyes. "Thanks, Mrs. M."
"You rest now, Tony."
"I'm not goin' anywhere, ma'am."
"How is he?" Hardin asked, coming close to where they sat.
She came to her feet slowly and turned to face him. "He's cut. He's bleeding. What more is there?"
"You got it stopped, didn't you? Couldn't've been as bad as all that." His voice carried a trace of the impatience he felt.
She didn't answer him. Her aged eyes roved over his face, and in her expression, he saw what he dreaded most—pity.
"I asked you a question!"
She smiled, waiting a space of several seconds. She was letting him know she'd answer when she was damn good and ready. "Yes. I got it stopped."
He dragged a sleeve across his face, then grunted. "That's all that matters, then, isn't it?" Abruptly, he turned and sauntered away.
* * * * *
Ryan shivered uncontrollably as the fever gripped him, his stomach rolling as he began the descent into the shaft of concrete at the side of Compton Street. Compton ran parallel to Ellis, and a tall, red brick building blocked the view any of Hardin's men might have had from the deli storefront. The plan was to try and locate a path under the streets that would lead to the deli—just to see if they could do it. Figuring out what to do once he got there would be something altogether different.
Now, he felt so sick he wasn't sure he was going to be able to hang on to the metal ladder that went down into the bowels of the city. He could feel the unvoiced trepidation of the two officers who reluctantly accompanied him.
He wasn't worried about what might be down there; he was more concerned about what they wouldn't find. What if there were no tunnels, and Abe Silverman's ravings were unfounded?
What if it's true, though?
The thought would not leave him. He took another step down, his foot slipping on the rung. He muttered a curse, his muscles tightening in his arms as he caught himself.
"Captain?" The voice came from just above him.
"I'm okay, Lanham. Just slipped." He steadied himself and stepped down again, his mind registering the fact the third man of their group, Officer Bill Wallace, had just begun the descent as the dim afternoon light from the grate above them was all but obliterated and the sound of another set of shoes could be heard on the metal steps from above.
They would be unable to use radios, except in a case of extreme emergency. Cell phone reception this far below ground would be unreliable.
Ryan felt his skin prickle with the throes of the fever that gripped him. He shrugged his shoulder against his forehead to wipe away the clamminess. Damn this flu. He'd never had it so bad.
Jesse, hang on, buddy. I'm doing my best. Just try to stay safe a little while longer. Don't worry about the others. It's you he wants…
He stepped down onto a solid floor, thankfully free of sewage, brackish water, or algae growth. It had been a dry summer, which could be a blessing and a curse for this particular situation. There was no standing water to contend with, but if it rained as much as was forecast for the coming evening and overnight, the parched land would not be able to absorb that quantity of precipitation in so short a time. Ryan had a bad feeling this underground maintenance corridor could fast become a death trap as the raging currents accumulated.
He glanced around, reaching for the flashlight clipped to his belt as Officer Brett Lanham joined him, followed shortly by Lanham's partner, Bill Wallace. The other men switched on their flashlights and followed their captain into the depths of the maintenance walkway, crouching as they went to keep from brushing the ceiling as they walked.
"Doesn't look like there's much hope, Captain," Wallace said nervously. "Unless there's more like this down yonder."
Ryan didn't answer. He was beginning to have real doubts about this expedition, too, but he wanted to see what lay at the cross-section of tubes a few yards ahead of them, where Wallace had indicated.
He figured at the juncture of the pipes, they'd be about a third of the way to the deli, between Compton and Ellis, headed east under 54th. He stopped to get his breath. From behind him, he heard Lanham ask if he was all right. He tried to respond, but could do nothing at the moment except grasp the curved concrete wall and try to keep himself upright and standing.
"Captain?" Wallace's beefy hand came atop his shoulder. "Ryan, you okay?"
He managed a nod as the dizzy feeling began to recede.
"What's wrong?"
"I think…I've got the damn flu…or something."
Wallace swore harshly. "You shouldn't be down here."
Ryan's lips twisted in a brief smile. "Where should I be, Lieutenant? Home in bed? Leave Jesse, and the others to deal with Tabor Hardin as best they can?"
Wallace's heavy-set features darkened. "You look like death." He shrugged in resignation at the determined look on Ryan's face. "I know. You feel like you have to be here. But…" He left the rest of his thoughts unspoken as he turned away, muttering something about stubborn Irishmen. Behind him, Lanham hid an uneasy smile.
Ryan took a shaky step forward, then another. As they approached the cross-section of concrete tubing, Ryan directed the beam of his flashlight to the top of the "roof" where the concrete connected. It seemed as if the portion they stood in now was considerably newer than that they were about to enter. In fact, the uncharted tubing t
hey were ready to step into looked as though it might have been there since Abe Silverman's boyhood days.
Ryan's hand touched a metal plate on the entryway wall as they walked inside. He trained his flashlight on the plaque.
Wallace leaned closer, wiping away the accumulated grit and corrosion of the years.
"My God…" Brett Lanham muttered. "It's true."
Ryan's legs felt like jelly as relief flooded through him. The letters were hard to make out, but not indecipherable.
"The Labyrinth Project—1922—Safety First."
Chapter Twenty
Jesse patted the bed beside him, shifting to make a place for Lindy. Lindy met his eyes, then glanced back toward the door Hardin had just closed. She looked as though she might come apart at any minute.
"Hey." His voice was husky with a mixture of the pain and feelings he tried to keep in check. Lindy turned to him once again, and he gave her a slow smile. "C'mere, Lindy."
She took the three strides to the bed and sank down beside him on the mattress, as if her legs had given way beneath her.
"Did you hear? Did you hear what he said?" Her voice trembled, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Jesse suspected she was trying to hold back the tears she should've been allowed to cry hours ago. When they'd been captured by Hardin, when he and the others had the hell beaten out of them, when Jennifer Riley had died, or when Lindy assumed the responsibility of trying to care for their little band of wounded hostages with nothing more than granulated sugar and clean dish-towels.
"Yeah. I heard." His stomach knotted at the thought of what was going to happen at midnight. It was going to be a long night. An even longer day was on the horizon, dealing with Tabor Hardin and his own brand of insanity. "I knew he couldn't resist…"
Lindy shook her head with determination. "I'm not going to let this happen."
His gaze arrowed to hers and held. "Yes. Yes, you are, Lindy. You are going to get safe, along with Nash and whoever else I can bargain for. Otherwise, it's…it's all for nothing. You understand?"
Her expression turned mutinous. "You expect me to just waltz out of here and leave you to those…bastards?"
He couldn't help the smile he felt on his lips. She looked so damn beautiful perched here beside him, her eyes blazing hot with indignation. He took her hand in his, watching as the anger guttered and died, desperation taking its place.
"Jesse, I can't do this. I can't live…knowing that you—you died for me."
"Nothing can change that," he said after a moment. "Hardin wants me; he's got me. So, the way I have to handle this is to make it count somehow. Knowing you and Nash are safe would go a long way in helping me…helping me take…whatever he throws at me."
She shook her head stubbornly. "No. No, I won't go. I can't…don't you understand?"
"Huh-uh. Maybe you better explain." He pulled her down to him, his eyes closing just as her mouth came across his in a kiss so deep and bittersweet it drove every other thought from his mind.
Her lips claimed his gently at first, and he knew she was being cautious of the beating they'd dealt him earlier. Under the tenderness lay a need, a desire so sharp it swept through both of them like the wind of a summer storm.
He speared his fingers through the silky strands of her auburn hair.
How could he bear to let her go?
She put her hands on both sides of his face, gently letting her fingers find their way into his hair at the temples. Her thumbs traced the hot skin of his cheeks and forehead, carefully avoiding the bruises. He felt his fever spike, her breathless kiss vulnerable and sweet against his mouth.
Don't you understand? she'd asked. How he wished he didn't know what awaited them at Hardin's hands!
"Promise me, Lindy…" he murmured against her lips.
She shook her head, pulling back slightly. "Don't ask me to do that, Jesse. Please. I…can't just leave you."
"Why? There's nothing binding you to me." A cheap shot, he knew, but she didn't fall for it.
"You don't believe that," she whispered, her lips brushing his again softly. "Not for a minute."
Reluctantly, he smiled as she kissed him again. "No. I don't believe it." He gently licked at her lips, tasting her sweetness, before he let her meld her mouth to his once more. He couldn't let go of the image he had in his mind of Lindy under the booth, refusing to run out the back way, refusing to leave him, refusing to back down with Hardin.
There is nothing binding us. Her lips trailed light kisses over his face and neck. Nothing except a chance meeting, a shared pastry, and this inevitable intertwining of their fates.
"There's always…the love," he said softly. Had she really told him she loved him earlier?
Lindy drew back slowly and looked into his eyes. Even if she hadn't said it before, he knew it now.
"Yes, if you…" She broke off, her voice hitching on a sob. "Jesse, I do love you. I know it might sound crazy, but—"
He shook his head, reached to put a finger to her lips. He could sense her dread at admitting to this rush of feeling she was so uncertain of, her fear that she was alone in it.
"Don't be afraid. Not about this, anyway."
"You said earlier, I was too young—"
He gave a short laugh. "I lied. I told Hardin whatever I needed to."
"'Scare talk,' huh?"
Jesse chuckled at her phrasing. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that. But it was me scared, not him. I was just trying to make him not want you…because you're…too young." He quelled the defensive note in his voice.
"But not too young for you. Not really."
"No." He swallowed hard, wanting to pull her to him again and kiss her into silence. But they needed to settle some things between them while they could.
"That…wasn't why we never met before today—"
He closed his eyes. "No. We didn't meet because I was busy keeping myself separated from everything…everyone…being a self-absorbed son of a—"
She leaned close to him, flicking his lower lip with her tongue. His heart jumped. She was offering whatever forgiveness he felt he might need from her—all his for the taking.
"Never that, darling. You are not self-absorbed…or anything bad. Look at what you've offered for the rest of us—yourself."
"Lindy, I don't need forgiveness from you."
"And, from yourself, Jesse?" she asked softly.
"No," he replied. "I know what, and who, I am. I should never have kissed you out there this morning."
"Why not?" She lightly nibbled at his mouth and he couldn't hold back the soft groan of need that escaped him. "I do understand exactly what a sacrifice you're setting yourself up for."
He strained upward to reach her, and she kissed him, solid and hot.
"Take it, sweetheart," he murmured, low and husky. "Take that sacrifice and run…with my blessing." His lips were a hairsbreadth from hers, his eyes holding hers, somber and still. There was no sound but their breathing. He saw the stubborn refusal in her face and understood his own limits. It was over. He had no more strength to battle her.
She shook her head. "You've been alone too long, thinking it had to be that way. I'm not going to leave you. No matter how this turns out, I'll be here. Please don't…don't hate me for it. I can bear anything but that."
The crushing weight of sorrow for what could never be pinioned him solidly to the bed. It set heavy in his gut, his chest, his limbs; weighing him down so he'd never be able to breathe again. His heartbeat strained against his chest. He wanted Lindy Oliver in a way that he'd never wanted another woman. He would be grateful if he could have one full day and night with her. To be able to share one day of living and one night of loving, then he would ask for nothing more. To have been granted a lifetime of those days and nights would be more than he could ever hope for, now that Tabor Hardin was in the picture.
He knew Ryan was out there, doing whatever he could to resolve this situation, but Hardin and his men were in a definite
position of strength. Yet, he was powerless to hold back his feelings for Lindy. He needed to tell her, to reassure her; this might be the only chance they had.
"I could never hate you, Lindy." His voice was rough with emotion. "What I offered Hardin…" His lips compressed as Lindy tensed. He rubbed her arm slowly. "I did that to save you and the others. He doesn't really care about any of the hostages, except the Anderson twins and me. Nash is only a tool to force me to do what he wants. If I give him that willingly, it takes Nash out of the game." He stayed quiet a moment. "I don't want him to have to see what Hardin has planned for me, Lindy. Or you. I don't want you to have to remember, and I'm not sure how long I'll be able to take it."
Lindy raised her eyes to meet his. "I will not let him do this to you!"
"You can't stop him. And I don't want you to try."
Silence arced between them for a few seconds. Jesse could see that what he had said left her speechless.
Lindy looked at him, unblinking, as if trying to peer into his soul. "Do you have something else you want to tell me, Jesse?" Her voice sounded hoarse. Jesse knew what she needed from him.
"Yeah." He let his breath out on a slow sigh. Time to tell her everything. "I don't know how this happened. Or why. All I wanted was to walk into the deli, buy my sugar ring"—he gave her a grin—"and coffee, then be on my way. But…you were here. You were here, and Abe saw fit to…to throw us together in that damn window booth."
He felt her waiting. There was more. She knew, as well as he did, it all needed to be said. "I kept thinking, It's just a quick breakfast. I won't see her again—except, when she goes to the mailbox to get her mail." His smile slowly spread at her incredulous look. "I always found myself close to the window at 5:30 when you came home, if I happened to be there—"
"You were watching me?"
"Hell, yes, I was watching you!" He looked away, toward the barred window, his voice going low and husky, "Watching you, wanting you, needing you…"
Sweet Danger Page 16
