Trouble with Nathan

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Your calendar’s booked for the foreseeable future,” Nathan reminded his brother-in-law. Any other time, any other circumstances, Nathan would have agreed. Rylan Price had outdone even the Price family reputation with his portable office and in helping them set up surveillance on Alastair Manville. It hadn’t taken more than a couple of phone calls for Rylan and his sister Cat to confirm Alastair’s location. The fact they were parked more than a block away from the former site of the Wellington Museum, now a burned-out husk of a building in the dregs of the San Francisco Presidio, and maintained eyes on the building was both a blessing and a curse.

  How much longer did he have to wait?

  They had yet to catch sight of Laurel or Joey, something that was propelling Nathan slowly toward madness. For an instant, he had an inkling of what had been pushing Alastair all these years. His comprehension of the man’s mindset didn’t do anything to bank the anger that had been building inside Nathan since Laurel and Joey had been taken. If anything, Nathan’s resolve to cause Alastair as much physical pain as possible intensified.

  A resolve that had solidified itself as he’d watched the surveillance tapes for the area over the past day. His brief bout of relief when he’d recognized Kolfax dumping a load of trash into the cans out back turned his stomach. Nathan would never look at a Happy Meal the same way.

  He really should have thought to bring Laurel’s bat.

  “He said nine o’clock. It’s eight thirty.” Rylan kicked his feet down as a sharp rap echoed off the rusted, albeit steel reinforced, door. Nathan pushed it open.

  “Thanks.” The grungy bag lady who stepped inside pushed off the worn knit hat to reveal a cap of yellow-blond hair. She shuddered as she dropped off the layer of dust and damp, stripping off a thick overcoat to reveal jeans and a yellow sweater underneath. “I hate reconnaissance, as my big brother knows, but be glad we did it. Oh, hey. You’re Malcolm Oliver.” Her face glowed as she smiled. “Cat Price. Your silver server motherboard on the X380 was beyond ridiculous. Well done.”

  That Cat understood Malcolm’s language eased a bit of the pressure. Nathan tapped restless fingers on his thigh. He glanced at his father who had taken up silent sentry by one of the two-way windows. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the building since they’d arrived early that afternoon. “You were saying we’d be glad—”

  “Hang on, Romeo. We’ll get your Juliet and her little one out of there.” Cat patted his arm. “Somehow.” She tossed her cell phone to Rylan. “Load it up, bro. We’ve got a problem.”

  Rylan connected her phone to one of the monitors.

  “That’s C-4 wired all along the base of the building. Or what’s left of it.” Cat traced a finger along the clumps of clay. “They did a good job camouflaging it, but it’s there, along with some fancy wiring. Near as I can tell, this baby is radio frequency triggered, meaning someone has to call a number to set off the detonator. I’d bet that’s in your Mr. Manville’s hands. Are you getting the picture? A lot of unknown variables on this, including some seriously shoddy wiring in the walls. Place is a tinderbox. But.” She held up her hand when Jackson and Nathan were both about to speak. “Here’s my good news.” She hunched over the keyboard and tapped away. “Nobody pays attention to bag ladies these days. Especially when we’re singing the greatest hits from Mary Poppins.”

  “A classic to be sure,” Rylan agreed. “What did you do? ‘Tuppence a Bag’?”

  “You know me so well.” Cat grinned. “And voilà.” A new picture popped onto the screen. “Is that your girl?”

  After more than a day, Nathan breathed easier. Laurel was sitting in a straight-back chair, her hands and feet duct taped to the arms and legs, but her eyes were sparking pure anger. “She’s alive.”

  “And kicking. Looks like she’s done some swinging on her own. Check out that bruise on her cheek and lip,” Cat said. “She wasn’t there a couple of hours ago when I checked. Tells me they were keeping her somewhere else until the meet time. And . . . here we have camera number two. I rolled them in. One of our little brother’s inventions, these camera balls. This would be Joey, would it not?”

  Sure enough, Nathan recognized those pigtails sticking out from the top of the blanket. She was shivering even in her sleep. Nathan clenched his fists. It was all he could do not to run in and grab both of them.

  “We’ve got a jammer that should block the signal for the explosives,” Rylan said. “But it’ll also mean neither of you will be able to use your phones.”

  “It’s just the calling features that won’t work, right, Rylan?” Jackson reached behind him without looking and pulled the metal artifact out of his bag before speaking for the first time in hours. “These cameras of yours will still transmit and record?” He pointed to the button camera Cat had stuck on his shirt.

  “Absolutely,” Rylan confirmed. “I’ve also got a few friends positioned around a two-block perimeter. Ready to assist if we need it. Once you’re in, I’ll go around back and get Joey out that way. Laurel’s on you,” he told Nathan.

  “Joey’s safe word is chimpanzee.” For the first time since Gage had found the monkey on his windshield, Nathan relinquished his hold on Burt, passing the responsibility for Joey to Rylan. “She shouldn’t go with you unless you say it.” The comment only stoked his rage at how Joey must have been taken; she had to have been unconscious. Between the carbon monoxide and the kidnapping, how much damage had been done to her?

  “Got it,” Rylan said.

  “I want those cameras recording,” Jackson said. “The whole time we’re in there, understand? I want anything and everything Alastair says on tape.”

  “You thinking he wants to confess?”

  “Believe me,” Jackson said. “He wants me to know exactly what he’s done. But he’s finished taking the people I love away from me. I want him to pay for all of it and I’m tired of waiting. Let’s go.”

  “It’s still too early,” Malcolm sat up in his chair.

  “We’ve been on Alastair’s timetable long enough. It’s time he was on ours. Malcolm, you stay here and work with Cat in case something goes wrong with the tech. Nathan?” Jackson slapped him on the back. “Let’s go get our girls back.”

  ***

  Save for her brain, Laurel’s entire body had gone to sleep. Blasden had wrapped the tape so tight she’d lost feeling in her hands and feet hours ago. But she’d managed to get a few kicks in, one pleasantly aimed at his groin. The punch she’d taken had been worth watching him limp off to find some ice. He’d taken her shoes, the second pair she’d lost in the last week. At this rate she wouldn’t have any left in a few days.

  As desperate as she’d been to see and hold her daughter, she’d been relieved that Joey had been asleep since Laurel had been brought into this stinky, rat-infested place. She could hear her daughter breathing as she slept on the cot at the far end of the room, but given how cold it was, she was worried about Joey getting sick. If only Poppy . . . Laurel sucked in a breath, pushing the grief and guilt aside. She couldn’t think about that now; couldn’t think how her actions had cost her one of the only people who had ever believed in her.

  Laurel scanned the room yet again, searching for anything she could use to cut herself free, but there was nothing, no broken glass, no shards of wood within reaching distance. She sighed. Damn. She really didn’t want to have to do this, but she was running out of time. She needed to get out of here with Joey before Nathan got himself killed riding to her rescue.

  She rocked to the side, hard, until the legs of the chair lifted off the floor. Rocked to the other side, back and forth, click, clack. Click. Clack. Right. Left until . . . timber! She crashed onto the floor, her left shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. She whimpered as pain radiated down her arm, but the impact had loosened the joints in the chair. She squirmed like a maniac until she heard the wood crack and she pulled the arm of the chair free.
/>   “Oh, no, you don’t.” Blasden strode in and for the first time since she was shoved in the trunk of that car, she saw former FBI Agent Kolfax, his bulbous face looking stressed with splotches of red and white as he stared, glassy-eyed at her. “You’re not going anywhere before your boyfriend gets here,” Blasden growled. She clenched her fist, looking for the most vulnerable spot she could strike and braced herself . . .

  Thwak!

  Laurel jerked as Blasden thudded to the ground, blood pooling under his head. She blinked up at Kolfax who was holding a solid two-by-four.

  “Should I be thanking you or ducking?” Not that she had anywhere to duck to.

  “Kidnapping and murder were never part of the deal.” He pulled out a knife and cut her free. “I wanted to find a way to make Mac Price pay for what he did.”

  “He’s in jail.”

  “He’ll get out. But I can’t care about that anymore.” He sliced through the last of the tape. “I should have called the cops when I saw where this was headed. I thought I could help. Keep an eye on you in Lantano Valley, see some way to . . .” He shook his head. “None of that matters now. I won’t be party to any more murders. Your daughter. Can you get her out?”

  “Yes.” She tried to shake feeling back into her arms and legs.

  “I see what obsession does. The madness it causes.” Kolfax refused to meet her eyes, but even so she could see the regret on his face. “You tell Juliano and Tremayne that for me, okay? Tell them I’m sor—”

  Bang! Bang, Bang!

  Kolfax dropped to his knees, blinked once as he pressed a hand against his bloodied chest. He pitched forward, hit the ground. And stared dead eyes up at her.

  Laurel choked on the bile in her throat as she looked up at Alastair.

  “Time’s up.” He waved the gun toward the doorway. “Move.”

  “Okay.”

  “Mama?” Joey’s soft voice exploded against Laurel’s ears like a grenade. “Mama, is that you? I’m scared.”

  She looked behind her, suddenly petrified to let Joey out of her sight. “Can’t I get her another blanket?” Oh, God. She could feel her body shutting down. She couldn’t control the tremors and her skin was flashing icy and hot at a speed she couldn’t stop. Pinpricks attacked her extremities as feeling began to return.

  “Does this look like the Four Seasons?” Alastair sneered. “I said move! She’ll be warm soon enough.” He grabbed hold of her arm and hauled her up, shoving her in front of him into the next room. The rough wood floor shoved splinters into her bare feet.

  “You’re early,” Alastair called as Laurel squinted into the darkness as two familiar figures approached. “Not following the plan got me arrested forty years ago. You never learn your lesson, do you?”

  The fear Laurel felt on the plane resurfaced with the force of a tidal wave. “Nathan. Jackson. Why did you come? He wouldn’t have hurt me,” she lied.

  “We really have to work on that tell of yours,” Nathan said with anger-tinged calm. “Now shut up, Laurel.”

  She stood up straight, his order giving her strength as relief swamped her. They had a plan.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” Alastair shoved Laurel forward and straight into Nathan’s arms.

  “Your timing sucks,” she whispered and wondered how she could feel safer now that he was here even with madman pointing a gun at her back. “He’s suicidal, Nathan. He doesn’t plan to make it out alive.”

  “Typical. Where’s Joey?” Nathan asked as he shifted his gaze to his father.

  “Back there.” She pointed behind her and she swore she heard a strange whizzing sound and a splinter of wood.

  “Well, I’m here, Alastair.” Jackson held up his arms and took a step away from them.

  Laurel motioned to stop him, but Nathan kept her still.

  “I’m right where you wanted me,” Jackson called. “Right where this all started forty years ago. Where you couldn’t resist temptation. What are you waiting for?”

  “This moment.” Alastair fired a shot into the floor beside Jackson. The bullet ricocheted into a fuse box on the wall to Jackson’s left.

  Sparks exploded as fire caught, gobbling up the desiccated wood and debris in the building. “Shit,” Nathan muttered as she saw a shadow pass behind Alastair in the other room.

  “That’s what you want, Alastair?” Jackson challenged. “To see me burn?”

  “To see him burn!” Alastair shouted, aiming the gun at Nathan and Laurel. “To watch them burn together. The way my son burned. The way my wife did.”

  “The way my wife did?” Jackson yelled over the increasing volume of fire. Laurel felt Nathan’s entire body tighten, as if he were a slingshot being prepped. “You did it, didn’t you, Alastair? You ran my wife off the road. Or did you hire someone else to do it?”

  “I wasn’t about to let anyone else have the pleasure,” Alastair bellowed. “I wanted you to suffer, to know loss. To feel trapped and know you had no control when it came to protecting the people you love.”

  “Lesson learned,” Jackson said. “Now let Nathan and Laurel and Joey go and we’ll end this the way it started. Just you and me.” The flames licked higher. An explosion ripped through the wall, sending wood flying out at them as Alastair brought out his cell phone.

  “That’s not going to work.” Jackson moved toward Alastair, hands still in the air. “I didn’t come alone Alastair. I have an entire team with me. You’ve hurt all the people you’re going to.”

  “I want you destroyed,” Alastair cried. “I want you on your knees, cowering, crying. I want you to have nothing left.”

  “It’s over! The charges have been dropped,” Jackson bellowed. “Your attempt to frame me for the theft of the crown failed. Your attempt to force me to confess to being Nemesis failed. It’s over, Alastair. Nobody else has to die.” Laurel watched as he set the crown on the ground and kicked it toward Alastair.

  “Death is all I have left.” Alastair aimed an oddly serene expression at Jackson. He tapped his phone with his thumb. Nothing happened. His face went ghost white. He shook the phone in his hand as the fire devoured more and more of the building.

  “Dad?” Nathan called and ducked when parts of the ceiling began to cave in. “With this fire, those explosives of his are going to go off anytime even without being triggered. We can’t stop it.”

  “I know.” Jackson nodded. “Go. Get Laurel out of here.”

  “Wait, Joey!” Laurel cried, choking against the thickening smoke.

  “Rylan has her,” Nathan whispered. “Now let’s go.” He turned, covering her head and shoulder with his arms as bits of the ceiling cracked off and floated down. She glanced back as Alastair realized what was happening.

  He threw the phone aside. It sizzled in the flames as he aimed the gun at Nathan’s back.

  “No!” Laurel screamed.

  Alastair fired.

  Laurel shoved Nathan to the side, falling into the path of the bullet. She felt it strike. The impact twisted her in the air and sent her sprawling to the floor. Her vision went fuzzy, her ears rang. Another shot rang out, a muzzle flashed over her head as she felt herself lifted into the air. Smoke curled into her lungs as she gasped for breath.

  “Goddamned stupid woman,” Nathan belted out seconds before she felt cold air on her face. Her head lolled to the side as she heard him cry for help as he carried her away from the warmth of the fire. Too bad. She was really cold. “What the hell were you thinking?” He laid her on the freezing ground as sirens erupted from every direction.

  She tried to lift her head, to make sure Nathan was all right. The explosion ripped through the night and had her crying out as Nathan covered her with his body, debris and ash dropping around them like lighted bombs.

  She heard yelling. The sirens grew louder even as the world seemed to fade away. Her ears
buzzed and she tried to move her head to clear them.

  “How bad is she hit?” Jackson bent down beside her, his face covered in soot, his beautiful tailored suit singed and ripped.

  “Ow.” She tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. “I always wondered what it would feel like to be shot.” She lifted her head, but Nathan shoved her back down, pressed his hands hard into her left side until she cried out. “That hurts.” And then the pain faded and she smiled. “Pretty boy.”

  Someone shifted into view above her. “Hey, Malcolm.” She frowned. Everything looked so weird. The colors were fading, as if she’d stepped into a black-and-white movie. “Thanks for coming to get me. Where’s Joey? Where’s my baby?”

  “Right here with Cat.”

  “We got a cat? Someone should have told me. I like cats. Sherlock’s a cat.” She waved her uninjured arm. She licked her dry lips. She was so thirsty. “I like Sherlock. Joey would like—Joey. Hey, there’s my Jelly Bean.” She tried to lift her arm.

  “Mama?” Her little girl’s voice broke through the buzzing in her head.

  “I’m okay, baby. Nathan’ll take care of us. He promised.”

  “I was wearing a bulletproof vest, you idiot,” Nathan muttered, and she saw his face was wet. “We knew he was going to try to kill me.”

  “Couldn’t let him.” She tried to sit up. She wanted to hold her baby.

  “Please stay still. Where’s the ambulance?” Nathan shouted.

  “Hey, Jackson?” She blinked at Nathan’s father. “I kept my promise. He’s okay.”

  “Yes, you did.” He took hold of her hand, squeezed it hard.

  “You have another one to keep,” Nathan told her. “You’re not leaving me. You hear me, Laurel? You promised to stay.”

  “Hmmm.” She nodded. So sleepy. “Some. Promises. Can’t . . . keep. Take care of . . .”