“Let me know what you find.”
“Sure.”
The telephone went dead and Drew was already moving. He grabbed his coat and rushed out the office down to the parking lot. Where in hell was his surveillance team? And why didn’t they alert him that Jess had gone to Scotland? Marsters was going to kill him. This was the second time since his return he’d managed to blow off their meeting. Drew looked at his watch. Ten past nine. He hoped he would be able to get on the next flight to Scotland.
* * * *
Jess sat on the small bed in the cold, barren cell. She could’ve sworn she heard the scurrying of tiny creatures across the floor. She wrapped her arms even tighter about her drawn-up knees and closed her eyes. It was dark, and she hated dark enclosed spaces. She’d been waiting hours and still no one had come.
Jason had sent a car to pick her up. He’d wanted to talk, but on her arrival she’d been thrown into the tower and imprisoned. That was yesterday.
The door swung open. Jess opened her eyes and scrambled to the far end of the bed. Someone shone a flashlight into her eyes. She raised her hands to her face warding off the harsh glare.
“It goes against the grain to say this, but you’re a very beautiful woman, Jessica. I really can’t fault Jason’s attraction to you.”
“Who are you? Where’s Jason?”
“Jason’s not here. He’s on an errand for me.” The triumph in his voice spewed forth in ugly malice. “I’m Alexander McCormack. I’m sure Jason has told you about me.”
Alexander’s presence was commanding in such a small space. She shuddered. Jason had been merely a hint of this intensity and he’d been all consuming.
“I don’t believe you. Jason w-wants nothing to do with you.”
He gave a chilling laugh. “You have no idea who Jason is, do you? As they say a photo is worth a thousand words.”
Jess felt the slight stir of air around her bare feet, and lowered her gaze to the photo he’d thrown onto the bed. It’d settled in the shaft of light drifting in from the small window high above her. Her breath caught sharply in her throat.
Alexander’s soft chuckle sent another chill down her spine and for the first time since her imprisonment she felt alone and thoroughly frightened.
She could hear Drew’s words ringing in her head. You are Mrs. Jason McCormack, he’d asked with astonishment.
It hadn’t been lost upon her, but neither had she given it much thought. Yet now…now she quite understood the significance of his surprise.
“Jason was fifteen when that photo was taken,” Alexander said, his steady voice, punctuating her thought. “To this day he continues to do me proud.”
“You can’t kill me,” Jess said defiantly, “the police know—”
“Nothing,” Alexander finished, coolly. “Nobody knows anything. You came here of your own free will.”
“I thought Jason would be here. He sent those men for me.”
“And now you know he didn’t.”
“My son? Where’s Jake.”
“The boy’s of no interest to me for the moment, but who knows. I might groom him to take Sean’s place. What do you think about that, Jessica? His skin’s light enough. He could pass in my future, although he will never be considered pure.”
She pushed herself from the bed, her fists clenched at her side. “No! I won’t let you touch him.”
Jess held her breath as Alexander’s steps drew menacingly closer. The single shaft of light cutting through the room fell across his features, and she finally saw the arrogantly handsome face.
“Nobody knows you’re here, Jessica. It really is a pity,” he murmured. He stroked a cold hand down her cheek.
In a moment of disgust and instinct Jess knocked his hand away, but felt the sting of a sharp slap across her face in reciprocation. His fingers twisted ferociously in her hair and Alexander tugged her head backward until her eyes gazed fearful and wide into his.
“Perhaps I’ll have you first then give you to my friends. Let them take you every which way, until you beg me to kill you.”
His mouth descended abruptly upon hers in a bruising kiss. His hand dipped beneath her shirt, finding first one breast then the other, squeezing the sensitive flesh and pinching her nipples cruelly until she cried out against his mouth. She fought against him, twisting in his grasp, but he held her firm. Tears rolled down her cheeks from the pain he inflicted on her scalp. His hand descended abruptly between her thighs and his fingers pressed roughly against the fabric of her jeans, chaffing the sensitive flesh at their apex.
Jess bit down on his lip and was hit again with such ferocity that she fell back onto the bed and then rolled from it onto the floor. She scurried across the room. Her body shook and her heart raced. She expected him to come after her. Her shaking fingers searched the floor for something…anything to defend herself.
His soft chuckle chilled her senses. “Are you wet, Jessica? Jason tells me you’re sweet on his tongue. I can believe that. Just one touch of you has made me hard.” She heard him breathe deeply. “I’ve not the time now, but when I come back we’ll finish this.”
The threat mingled with the promise and hung in the air long after Alexander had left her, firmly locking the door behind him. She was alone again, in the dark she hated, but she wouldn’t cry. It was no use, the walls were too thick and from the sound of the door closing shut it was solid and heavy.
She forced herself to her feet and climbed onto the bed, curling her knees tightly to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut against the mocking images of her husband, each and every one a complete contrast to the photograph of the fifteen-year-old boy she’d seen, his right hand raised in a proud Nazi salute.
Chapter Twenty-One
“H-ell-o,” Drew murmured.
“What, sir?”
The young police constable next to Drew strained his neck to peer beyond the trees. They were lying in wait in the woodland surrounding Alexander McCormack’s vast estate at Tomintoul. Drew pondered his next move and watched Grant Wesson drive into view.
Drew glanced at the eager face at his side. The young policeman was on loan from the local Elgin police.
“That man is Grant Wesson. FBI.”
“What’s he doing here, sir?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out. Wait here,” Drew ordered.
Drew kept Grant Wesson in his sights and stealthily circled through the trees. The sun was already setting, giving him the advantage of the shadows. Grant leaned nonchalantly against his car. Drew sidled closer and stepped silently behind him, locking an arm tightly about Grant’s neck.
“Hello, Wesson,” he hissed. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Recovered from his initial surprise, Grant sought to twist out of Drew’s grip, but the lock was unbreakable.
“Where’s Jessica McCormack?” Drew demanded.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Wesson grunted through clenched teeth, trying to pry Drew’s arm from about his neck.
Drew felt for Grant’s weapon and pulled it from its holster. He pushed the other man roughly away from him. Grant sprung abruptly about, ready to fly at Drew, but stopped short as Drew leveled the gun higher and aimed it between his eyes.
“Walk,” Drew directed. He motioned Grant toward the trees with the flick of his gun-filled hand.
“You won’t shoot me,” Grant scoffed. “You British aren’t cut out for it.”
“Walk,” Drew repeated.
Grant picked and stumbled his way through the trees until Drew told him to stop. They were deep enough in the woods not to be disturbed.
Drew pulled his lips into a tight, humorless smile. “I was brought up in Belfast not far from the Falls Road. A rough part of town,” he said. “So, I have no qualms about shooting you, Wesson.”
He lowered the gun explicitly. “Do you know what knee-capping is?” he asked with deadly calm. “Where is Jessica McCormack?”
“Go to hell.”
The
gunshot echoed through the trees, scattering the forest creatures and chasing away birds in their droves.
Grant Wesson lay among the fallen branches clasping his knee and writhing in agony. Blood soaked his trousers and spurted through his fingers as he tried to stem the flow. Drew stood above him, the gun callously aimed at his elbow.
Iain skidded to sudden halt at Drew’s side.
“Sir! You can’t do this!” he panted loudly.
“This is a private conversation,” Drew returned tightly. “Turn around and run back the way you came.”
“I can’t, sir.”
“Suit yourself.”
Another shot rang out through the trees. Grant shrieked and Iain stumbled to one side, vomiting uncontrollably at the grating sound of bullet grinding into bone.
“Right elbow next, Wesson,” Drew declared calmly.
Grant turned pleading eyes onto Iain who stood at the edge of the clearing wiping his mouth.
“Stop! Make him stop!”
“Where’s Jessica McCormack?” Drew repeated. He primed the gun, his aim clear.
“Wait!” Wesson shrieked. “Behind the house. She’s behind the house.”
“Where?”
“In the old tower! I brought her here! She thought she was coming to meet Jason.”
“But you handed her over to McCormack instead.”
“You don’t understand. She’s a liability,” Grant sneered. “They’re tying up loose ends.”
“Who?”
“This is much bigger and goes much deeper than you can imagine, Mahon.”
Drew looked toward the old castle and doubted Grant was lying. “Come on,” he said, turning to Iain.
“What about me?” Grant moaned loudly.
“What about you?”
“You can’t leave me here, Mahon. They’ll kill me.”
“Do I look like I care?”
“Wait. Mahon, please,” Grant implored. “I can tell you more, give you names. Just don’t leave me. Please. If the woman escapes, they’ll know it was me.”
Drew narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “Give me a name.”
“McCormack’s in a meeting with Pieter von Farben as we speak.”
“Who is he?”
Grant grunted in pain. “One of the Cartel.”
“What Cartel?”
“You’ll get nothing else from me, Mahon, until I see a doctor.”
Drew released an exasperated breath. “Give me your undershirt,” he instructed Iain, stooping next to Wesson.
Iain quickly divested himself of the garment, putting his sweater and jacket back on as Drew tore strips from the shirt to make a tourniquet. Drew secured a final knot, then raising the butt of the gun knocked Grant unconscious.
“Help me move him to that tree,” he ordered Iain.
“Were you so sure he knew where Jessica McCormack was, sir?”
Drew gave Iain a long look, silencing and arrogant in his justification.
The old tower was silhouetted against the darkening sky and stood partially hidden amidst wild, overgrown forestation that blanketed the area at the rear of the house. There was no guard. Drew’s stomach churned at the underlining assumption that Jess would never be found and therefore didn’t need a watchman. The thick, arched door was locked. He flipped open his wallet and fished out a long, thin instrument.
“Police work is knowledge,” Drew smirked, reading the disbelief on Iain’s face.
He inserted the tool into the old, rusty lock. “Of knowing as much or even more than your average criminal. And being prepared to use that knowledge on every level,” he added.
His fingers skillfully maneuvered the delicate instrument. The lock clicked open and Drew entered the damp, musty space.
The tower was divided on two levels. From where Drew and Iain had entered the stairs split, one set leading up into the tower and the other downwards. Drew called Jess’ name as loud as he dared.
“The walls are too thick, sir. I don’t think she can hear us.”
“You go up. I’ll go down,” Drew directed. “And don’t be a hero.”
Drew counted thirteen steps down to the first door, and thirteen more to the second door. Both doors stood wide open. Thirteen steps lower and he stopped outside a third door. It was locked. He felt his way, dispersing with the lock as easily as he had the other. The door creaked slowly open and his breath escaped in satisfaction.
“Jess?” he whispered. “It’s Drew. Jess?”
Her voice sounded out the dark silence, fearful in its disbelief. “Dr—Drew?”
“Jess. I’m here.”
Half stumbling, half-crying she flew into his arms. “I c-can’t believe it. Drew. How d-did you know I was h-here?”
Drew tightened his arms reassuringly about her. “Later,” he said. “We have to get out of here.” Jess pulled back, nodding her understanding.
“Here, put this on,” Drew directed.
He slipped his jacket about her shoulders, grabbed her hand tightly, and pulled her behind him.
“Where are your shoes?”
“They were taken off me.”
“Stay close to me,” Drew said and she nodded again.
They ran up the steps, and then slowed as they approached the main door. Iain stood on the other side of the doorway.
“You found her, sir,” he exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “Two men with automatic silencers coming this way. I think they know we’re here.”
“Get her to the car! Now!” Drew ordered. “Don’t look back! Run!”
Jess screamed his name as Drew darted from the tower, drawing fire from the two men closing in through the trees. One was Alexander McCormack, the other she’d not seen before.
“Come on, Miss,” Iain urged. ”Don’t look back! Run!”
“We can’t leave him!”
“We won’t,” Iain replied.
Jess’ heart pounded fearfully as they bobbed and weaved through the trees. She ignored the pain in her feet and concentrated on the sounds of muted gunfire filling her ears. They reached the car.
“Wait here! And keep down!” Iain called, darting off in another direction.
She crouched low behind the car, her eyes tightly closed, her thoughts on Jake and Jason and Drew. Would she live to see them again? Would Drew live?
“Get in!”
Iain opened the back door and ushered her inside before sliding behind the wheel. She cowered behind the driver’s seat. She could feel the car slalom through the trees.
“Hang on, Miss.”
Jess closed her eyes and complied.
* * * *
Drew had taken cover behind a large dumpster. The car burst from between the trees, skating to a halt and providing cover as Alexander McCormack fired his gun at his head and missed. Drew dived through the car’s opened door and onto the back seat. He looked through the rear window and witnessed the single bullet from von Farben’s gun enter the space between Alexander McCormack’s eyes with cold, executing precision.
“Go! Go! Go!” he shouted.
Iain didn’t need telling twice. The car lurched into high gear and raced to the front of the house, across the manicured lawns and down the private avenue to the public road.
Drew pulled Jess to him, keeping her head tucked against his chest. “Jess, are you okay?”
She fisted his shirt tight between her fingers and nodded.
“Iain?”
“I’m fine, sir, but that FBI agent is dead. He was shot in the head.”
* * * *
Jess suspected no one realized how hard she was fighting to stave off her rising hysteria and hold on to her sanity. If only she could flee to the far hills surrounding them and scream until her lungs hurt, until she no longer hurt. But she had to be strong for Jake.
The doctor shone a light into her eye and she followed his instructions. She looked left, looked right, looked up and looked down. He’d raised a curious eyebrow at the scar on her chest during her examination, but she’d remain
ed silent about that. She sighed. All she needed was a good night’s sleep. That’s what she’d told Drew, yet he’d insisted on bringing her to the hospital first anyway. She was fine, physically. She’d get over the rest. She got dressed, relieved the doctor had found nothing untoward and went in search of Drew, but bumped quite literally into Iain instead.
“Detective Inspector Mahon asked me to wait for you,” Iain quickly explained.
“That’s nice,” Jess murmured. “Where’s he?”
“There’ve been some developments,” Iain replied, a trifle hesitant.
“Developments? What developments?” Jess insisted. “Please, you have to tell me, Iain.” She waited, masking her impatience as best she could.
“Well—Alexander McCormack is dead.”
“Did Drew kill him?”
“That’s what we need to determine.”
“But Alexander McCormack wanted to kill me. Drew saved me. If he did kill Alexander McCormack it would’ve been out of self-defense, wouldn’t it? You were there. Tell them.”
“Yes, I know. I’m being debriefed later, but you see, McCormack was well-known in these parts. And he was liked and admired by many. No one is going to believe he kidnapped and planned to murder his own daughter-in-law because—no matter the reason.”
No matter the reason? Jess lifted an eyebrow. “Will you take me to see Drew?”
“Of course. He’s at Elgin police station.”
Two hours later Drew was released from the debriefing room.
“Are you all right?” Jess asked, running to his side.
Drew nodded. “We’re free to go. Initial forensic tests confirm our version of events and once Iain gets debriefed there should be nothing to worry about.”
Jess laid a hand on his arm.
“If you didn’t kill Alexander McCormack, then who did?”
“Pieter von Farben.”
“Who’s he?”
“Another piece of our puzzle. Come on, let’s go.”
On the drive to London both seemed loathed to speak.
“Is it over?” she asked quietly. “I mean, now that Alexander McCormack is dead.”
“No,” Drew answered. “Alexander McCormack may be dead, but whatever he was a part of is still very much alive.”
Blood of His Fathers (Sinners and Saints) Page 27
