by Naomi West
“I know, babe,” he replied, kissing her soft blonde hair again, “I know. But I have to see this through. He's my brother, and he doesn't deserve to be in there. This is my only chance.”
They lay there in silence for a few minutes more. Soon, Zed realized the light drops of water falling on his chest weren't beads of sweat. They were drops of tears.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Zed
He tied her to the dining room chair again, leaving her in the living room.
“I just don't understand why we have to do it this way,” she said. “Why can't you just leave me in the house, not tied up?”
“Needs to look believable if they come into the house after I leave,” Zed explained. “If you're up and out when they burst through the door after I leave, they're going to think you had something to do with it. Or worse, they may think you're a viable target.”
“A viable target?” she asked, repeating back his words. “Oh. That does sound bad.”
He smiled, despite the gravity of the situation. “I know.” He grabbed the roll of tape off the table and screeched out a stretch of it, tore, and then put the strip to her lips.
“Wait,” she said, stopping him. “Can we at least, you know, kiss . . . for luck?”
He set the tape aside, took her face in both hands, then kissed her for what he knew would be the last time. They explored each other's mouths, savoring the remnants of the last week. They broke apart, panting, both wishing they'd met under better circumstances.
“They have conjugal visits, right?” she asked, a single tear slipping from her perfectly blue eyes and rolling down her cheek.
He winced. “I think that's just in the movies,” he replied, as he picked up the tape and put the strip over her mouth. “Sorry, Abby.” He stood, kissed her on the head one last time, then grabbed the keys and headed for the garage. He picked up her “body double,” a bundle of stuffed garbage bags with a crudely attached pillow case, and was out the door. He went around and stuffed body double Abby in the Escalade's passenger seat, then went around to the driver side.
He climbed in and slid the keys into the ignition. Both hands on the wheel, he drummed his fingers as he took a deep breath and reminded himself why he was doing this.
Part of his pre-mission prep had been a ritual pep-talk, a reminder for every time he hopped into the cockpit of his F16 before flying a sortie. It was a way to center himself, a way to stay frosty. He put all of his other concerns aside focused on the mission, and recalled his underlying motivation.
Before, the missions had been about his fellow soldiers, his country, his promises of service, and a better life he was working toward, after the Air Force.
Now, though, his mission was to make sure Abby had a life after him. And that his brother, Kai, could have a life after his family. None of this was their fault, and Zed had shouldered these burdens on his own. Because if he didn't protect them, if he didn't guard them against the consequences of the actions of evil men, no one else would have.
He'd only uncovered the plot at Pharma-Vitae. He hadn't caused anything. All that responsibility was on Mark Letterman and his bosses. All the wheels had been in motion long before he, or Abby, had come along to unravel everything.
Now the mission had come down to him, Zed reminded himself as he looked in the rear-view mirror. No one else.
He turned the key in the ignition, the SUV's engine rumbling to life like a sleeping jungle cat that was awoken by its next meal.
“All right,” he said to body double Abby, who was securely strapped into the seat “Let's do this shit.” Zed threw the Escalade in reverse, braced his hand on the passenger seat headrest, and looked back over his shoulder. He nodded to himself and slammed on the gas.
The tires squealed at the sudden acceleration, their spinning rubber treads scrambling for purchase on the smooth concrete floor. When they caught, the giant black car zoomed backwards, crashing into the metal garage door, knocking its wheels from the tracks.
Zed kept his foot on the gas, even through the momentary slow down when he hit the barrier, and plowed on through the wreckage. The steel of the door shrieked as the sheet metal scraped over the roof and outsides of the car doors.
He saw police officers in their black uniforms and plain-clothed detectives scrambling out of the way of Zed's oncoming SUV. They went running behind the big utility vans and armored transports they'd lined the street with.
“Come on, fuckers!” Zed hooted, as the SUV sped down the driveway toward them.
Screams of protest erupted from the police surrounding the scene.
Zed cut the wheel at the end of the driveway, just before his car hit the street, forcing the rear-end of the SUV to careen into Abby's front yard. The top-heavy SUV swayed ominously from side-to-side as the car turned, but Zed could tell the chassis was stable. He glanced around briefly at all the SWAT trucks parked on the street and blocking off the area. He blinked at all the flashing lights.
“Zed Hesse!” announced a voice through a megaphone. “We have you surrounded! There's no way out!”
Then, another voice piped up. “He's got the woman! Hold your fire. She's inside with him! Hold your fire!”
Having not been certain the body double trick was going to work, Zed grinned to himself at his luck. He slammed the Cadillac into drive before the SUV came to a complete stop, his foot slamming back onto the gas. Sure, driving this way wasn't good for the transmission, but Zed was pretty sure nothing he was going to do to the car today would be great for it.
“He's going to ram the barricade! Out of the way!”
The SUV lurched forward again, chewing up the front lawn's turf as nearly six thousand pounds rocketed forward. He fought the steering wheel for control as the Escalade, angered at the impromptu off-roading lesson, slid sideways. Rubber hit the grass on the other side of the driveway, its rear wheels fishtailing into Abby's brick-and-mortar mailbox with a satisfying crunch. Then, he was on asphalt. The tires found purchase, and he slammed on the horn as he went flying towards the police barricades.
Cops pushed reporters and civilians out of the way, tackling them to the ground on either side of the wooden barricade, which looked more like a giant orange and white sawhorse than anything. Screams of terror rose from the crowd as the crush of people parted like Moses' sea, and the SUV slammed into the obstruction in a hail of splinters and a crash of metal and glass.
Then, he was through, the pedal still to the metal as he raced down the neighborhood’s streets, heading for the exit.
He took the first turn wide, the tires squealing like four stuck rubber pigs as he righted the SUV with another wobble of the compartment, and slammed back on the gas for the main road.
Behind him, he could hear police sirens over the roar of the engine and could see the flashing red-blue lights as the police engaged in their pursuit.
Perfect. This was exactly what he wanted. All the cops' eyes on him, the barrels of their guns pointed his direction, so Abby would be safe. That was the important part of this. “Next stop,” he said to body double Abby through gritted teeth, as he spun the wheel and raced out onto the main road without looking, “Pharma-Vitae.”
He hardly lifted his foot from the gas pedal for the next ten miles. He blew through stop lights, he went over sidewalks when he had to, and weaved in and out of traffic. The cops steadily fell behind him, trapped in the gridlock of traffic that his wild, unnerving driving created. Every minor accident he caused bought him a few more seconds.
Soon, though, the police were gone. Their lights no longer lit up his rear-view mirror and their sirens didn't fill the air. He'd lost them! Wait, he'd lost them?
What the hell was he supposed to do now? He honestly hadn't thought this far ahead, since he'd figured he'd have a tougher time getting out than this, or that they'd manage to set up blockades along the way. Now, though, he was saddled with the decision of what to do next. Not sure of his end game for the whole plan, he just kept on his way t
o Pharma-Vitae.
Above him, the chopper beat out their wicked tattoo, their sights set on the SUV as they shadowed him over the city. No matter how fast he went, or how many problems he could cause for the cops on the ground, the police helicopters would always find him.
He sped along to Pharma-Vitae, pulling the SUV up in front of the home office's front door. The Escalade lurched as he slammed into the curb out front, the front axle grating and breaking as the car went up onto the front plaza sidewalk. Zed hopped out of the car, glancing back as squaddies showed up in their black and white cars, their lights whirling like a Saturday night disco as they came down the main road toward the entrance. Above him, the choppers circled the building low, keeping him in under surveillance.
He didn't know if Kara Singh had gotten his and Abby's story out yet, so he wasn't sure if the truth was on the airwaves, but he couldn't worry about that now.
This was it. This was his chance to get Mark Letterman. He sprinted inside the building, knowing he had one final thing to do: find Mark and make him confess.
# # #
Abby
It was like she'd been scooped up from Fifty Shades of Grey and dumped into Die Hard.
Duct tape still over her mouth, Abby screamed wordlessly as SWAT and police came bursting through the front and back doors simultaneously, screaming, “Police! Everyone get down!”
Abby screamed in wordless terror again as the men, at least a dozen, poured into her house, submachine guns in hand, tricked out in full armor and helmets, red lasers like they'd focused on Zed earlier dancing around the house like demonic will-o'-the-wisps.
“Secure!” shouted one team, as they cleared her dining room and kitchen.
She kicked frantically in her chair, looking around, trying to track all the sudden movement around her.
“Bedroom secure!” came another voice from deeper in the house.
One of the police officers came up to her, pulling down his face guard and letting his deadly weapon drop to the side and hang from his tactical sling. “Ms. Winters?” he asked, as looked her up and down. He pulled the tape Zed had placed over her lips, peeling it off as gently as was possible with the sticky material. “You all right, ma'am?”
“Zed Hesse is my boyfriend!” she shouted. “He's not a threat!”
“Pardon me?” the SWAT member said, as more men, plain clothed officers this time, came rushing into the now-secure scene. Another one of the assault team flicked open a pocket knife and dropped into a squat, beginning to work at her bindings. The blade slipped against her skin as he sawed through the tape.
“Zed!” she repeated loudly. “He's not a threat!”
“Stand aside,” one of the plain-clothed detectives, a heavy set, middle-aged man with a mop of brown curls up top said, as he brushed aside the SWAT member who'd removed Abby's duct tape gag. “I'm Det. Reynolds,” he said, as he offered her a hand. Behind him came the trauma units and first responder EMT's. “Let's get you out of here.”
“No!” she shouted. “I need you to listen to me!”
“Ms. Winters,” Det. Reynolds said, “I know this a stressful time, but we need to ask you a few questions. We need you to calm down, let the teams do their work, and—”
“Det. Reynolds,” she said, her words suddenly as cold and focused as when she was just the Ice Queen of Pharma-Vitae, “Zed Hesse didn't kidnap me. He's trying to exonerate his brother Kai Hesse by tracking down Mark Letterman, the head of sales for my company. Letterman intentionally released a bad medication for profit. He's the man you need to investigate, not my boyfriend.”
Det. Reynolds wiped a hand through his mop of curls, his eyes searching. “Aw, geez. Thought this was just another day at the office.”
Abby smiled, thinking she was getting through to the detective. He turned to one of the uniformed officers next to him and, with one eye glancing her over, said, “Make sure we get her back to the station after the EMT's look her over. This ain't adding up.”
Wait. She knew that look. They didn't believe her.
The trauma team, almost on cue, got her attention and helped her sit down so they could begin taking vitals. The uniformed officer Det. Reynolds had spoken to came over, his eyes settling on her, his hand on his gun.
Abby shook her head. No, this was not how things were supposed to work. Zed had run to get the attention of the cops, not to leave her as some sacrificial lamb. But that was exactly how she felt—a poor animal being offered up for slaughter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Abby
With a clean bill of health, she was ushered out of the house a short while later. Det. Reynolds and the uniformed officer were at her side the whole time as they escorted her out the front door and onto her demolished lawn.
She groaned as she looked at the damage Zed had caused to the front of her house with her SUV. She ran her eyes over the pieces of her garage door laying all over the driveway and street, the mud-hole of a front yard, and her destroyed mailbox. “Zed,” she groaned. “Really?”
As the two men took her across the street to an unmarked police vehicle, she told them her side of the story.
Det. Reynolds sighed as he escorted her around to the passenger side door. “Look, I want to believe you. I really do. It sounds almost sweet, even, your boyfriend saving you from your rivals while he's trying to exonerate his twin brother. Real sweet. Almost perfect, like one of my wife's romance novels or some kinda nonsense.”
“But, you don't believe me,” Abby said, her voice glum.
“No, unfortunately, I don't. Wanna hear what I think? I think, what we got here, is you trying to extort money from your company for whatever reason. Greed? The thrill? Trying to relive Natural Born Killers? I dunno yet. But, you got cold feet on the whole thing, so your boyfriend took off on ya to try and get the money before word got out.”
She just looked up at him, blinking sadly in defeat.
“And, since you ain't got proof on hand of any of this,” Det. Reynolds continued when she didn't respond, “I'm gonna advise you to get a lawyer. This doesn't look good for you, Ms. Winters. That's what I think.”
Then, she realized what she was forgetting. No, she might not have evidence, but two other people did. “Kara Singh,” she said, “the reporter you let in to interview us as Zed's first demand?”
“What about her?”
“She made a recording of me and Zed, together, while she was in there, explaining the whole thing. She'll back me up, and be able to provide you with the evidence. And, Jackie Robertson, my personal assistant, will back up my story on Zed being my boyfriend. Call them. They'll tell you.”
Det. Reynolds sighed and checked his watch. Inside the car, the police radio crackled and popped, static-filled communications filling the airwaves. The detective tugged at his tie and pulled it out at a forty-five-degree angle from his chest as he seemed to consider her words for a long time. Then, he sighed again, and let the strip of cloth drop to rest on his barrel-chest. “Okay,” he said. “I'll call the reporter lady and see if she backs you up. You got a number for your secretary?”
“You got a pen?”
She gave him the number and settled back into the passenger seat of the cop car, her nose wrinkling at the smell. Now that she wasn't under constant tress, she realized how much the interior stank of stale coffee and fast food.
“Oh, Zed,” she groaned, lying back in the seat. “This was not how it was all supposed to end.”
As she rested there for a moment, the police radio blaring its almost incomprehensible slang and cop-talk, she realized suddenly what they were saying. “Perp is at Pharma-Vitae offices downtown. Repeat, all units proceed to Pharma-Vitae for suspected shooter incident. Offices shut down and cordoned off. Repeat, all units proceed to Pharma-Vitae.”
Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh, fuck!
Zed!
She'd never been a praying woman before. She felt everything she'd ever accomplished had been on her own merits. There had never been any help,
especially from her mother.
But, whether or not she was before that day, sitting in that cop car with the radio crackling and popping, she became one.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just let him come home to me.”
# # #
Zed
“Zed?” Jackie, purse and empty travel mug in hand, asked as he burst into the lobby. “What are you doing here?” She must have remembered quickly, though, because she began to backpedal away from him as he advanced on her.
“Sorry, Jackie,” he growled, as he shot an arm out and grabbed hold of her. “This needs to look real.”
She screamed as he yanked her into his one-armed embrace and pulled his pistol from his jacket. All around them, the lobby broke into a panic, ten or so employees yelling and shoving, rushing for the fire exits—any exits—desperate to get away from Zed and his hostage. “Security!” screamed an older woman's voice, as she ran from the action. “He has a gun!”
