by Debra Webb
The guy doing the pat down found the pen and shoved it into his own jacket pocket. Trinity noted that it was in his left pocket.
Thankfully the scumbag didn’t notice the knife. Trinity had been wearing a watch previously so he didn’t pay any attention to that.
“There’s only a hundred thou here,” Lane said, anger simmering in his tone. “Your wife indicated there was a lot more than this.”
Time to play the tough guy. “That’s right,” Trinity said. “We go get my wife and the child you promised us and I’ll give you another hundred thousand. I’m no fool, Lane. You’ve already double-crossed me once tonight.”
Lane’s associate slammed Trinity against the wall of the building behind him. “You’re in no position to dictate conditions. We want it now.”
Trinity shook his head. “Not until you hold up your end of the bargain.”
“Kill him,” Lane ordered.
Trinity laughed. “That would be a mistake.”
Lane stormed up to him and shoved the muzzle of a weapon into his face. “How do you figure that, smart guy? You don’t seem to have any advantage at the moment. They’ll find your body in the snow tomorrow morning. Just another holiday mugging. People get desperate around the holidays.”
“I left a note with the security guard. If anything happens to me, they’re to look for you, Lane.” Trinity grinned. “I provided a very detailed description and your fingerprints.”
Lane’s gaze narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“You didn’t see me talk to the security guard.” Lane had been watching. Trinity knew he had.
“You couldn’t have left my prints,” Lane argued.
“The duct tape,” Trinity reminded him. “You ripped it off my mouth and shoved it on my shirt. I’ve seen it on television a thousand times. Can you be certain your prints aren’t salvageable from the tape? All I want is my wife back and the child you promised us. Why would I contact the police then? Buying children is a crime, isn’t it? I have no desire to go to jail.”
“Put him in the car,” Lane roared. He strode back to the car, grabbed the portfolio and climbed into the front passenger seat.
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” the scumbag still holding Trinity against the brick wall jeered.
Trinity shook his head. “Just desperate, that’s all.”
The bastard pulled Trinity away from the wall and slammed him into the car. The tracking disk flew from his hand. There was no opportunity to see where it landed before the bastard shoved Trinity into the backseat.
Well, there went any chance of Jim and Simon tracking the vehicle.
Trinity wasn’t going to sweat whether he had backup or not for the moment. He was prepared to take control of the situation and then he would con tact backup.
Right now he needed to watch what he could see of the passing landscape through the front windshield and when he felt confident that he was close enough to find his way back to Von’s location he would make his move.
He could handle the current odds. Back at the transfer facility his chances were less than optimal.
He studied Lane. Greedy bastard. That greed and Von’s quick thinking were the only reasons either of them was still alive.
That was the thing about bad guys. Even when they were smart enough and ballsy enough to pull off near-perfect crimes, their greed or need for power always got them in the end.
Lane’s would get him.
Twenty minutes into the ride Trinity recognized the deer crossing sign they passed on the long stretch of deserted road. Someone had painted a red X on the sign. One of the few landmarks he’d been able to note. They were close. Eight or ten minutes, no more.
“We need to pull over.” Trinity clamped his hand over his mouth.
Lane twisted around to glare at him. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m…” Trinity grabbed at the door latch. “I’m ill,” he muttered.
“Don’t move,” Lane growled and aimed his weapon into the backseat.
Ignoring the threat, Trinity released the lock on his door and pulled at the handle. Cold air rushed in around the partially open door.
“Shut that door!” Lane shouted.
The driver swerved as he attempted to determine what was going on in the back seat.
Trinity opened the door a little farther. “Can’t…” He heaved, making it as authentic as possible.
“Pull over,” Lane instructed the driver.
The car braked hard and rolled to a stop onto the shoulder of the road.
Trinity rammed his upper body out the door and made more sounds of having to empty his stomach.
Lane jerked Trinity’s door open. Trinity scrambled out of the car and moved on all fours into the darkness. He kept up the fake heaving and groaning.
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” the driver demanded as he came up alongside Lane.
“Who knows?”
Trinity mentally prepared a plan, then slowed the gagging and groaning.
“Get him back in the car,” Lane ordered his subordinate.
Trinity braced.
The driver stalked over, reached down and grabbed Trinity by the left arm and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go.”
A car door slammed, indicating Lane had already climbed back inside.
Trinity shook loose from the guy’s hold and bent down to brace his hands on his thighs as if he might be sick again.
The driver opened the back passenger side door and came back to usher Trinity inside, grabbing him by the arm once more.
Trinity rammed the back of his free hand and wrist into the guy’s throat, crushing the watch crystal with the impact. The guy let go of Trinity and stumbled back. He reached for his throat with one hand and his weapon with the other.
Lane was out of the car before Trinity could go for the knife in the lining of his coat or go after the special pen the other guy had shoved into his own pocket.
Trinity shoved upward the barrel of the weapon that leveled in his direction. He threw his full body weight into Lane, pinning him against the car.
Lane headbutted him. Shoved him backward.
They tumbled to the ground where the other guy lay crumpled and unmoving.
Trinity fought to gain control of the weapon. Lane wasn’t letting go. They rolled, alternately gaining and then losing the upper hand.
One shot, then two and three expelled from the weapon Lane attempted to turn toward Trinity. Fighting equally hard to keep the muzzle away from his person, Trinity finally got Lane on his back and began to beat the hand clasped around the butt of the weapon against the pavement. Somehow they’d managed to roll right up next to the front bumper of the car.
Two more shots fired off. Trinity dared to shift his attention to the guy’s head. He slammed it into the pavement instead of the weapon. He slammed it hard, then harder.
The grip on the weapon loosened.
Trinity drew back his fist and punched him in the jaw. Lane’s eyes lolled back in his head. He stopped struggling.
Taking a second to catch his breath, Trinity pulled the weapon from Lane’s slack fingers and shoved it into his waistband. He pushed to his feet and staggered over to the other guy to retrieve his weapon as well as the tranquillizer pen.
He made his way to the driver’s side of the car and got the keys. When he’d opened the trunk he loaded Lane, and then his buddy inside. Trinity shot a couple of holes into the raised lid of the trunk just in case. He didn’t want the bastards to suffocate. Even if they deserved no better.
Lane’s cell phone wasn’t in any of his pockets. The other guy’s was but the keypad was locked. Trinity threw the phone into the woods, snagged the guy’s weapon, then shut the trunk lid.
Stretching his neck after the rolling around on the ground, he made his way to the driver’s seat and dropped into it. He shoved the key into the ignition and gave it a twist.
Nothing happened.
Not a sound.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Trinity exhaled a frustrated breath. He pulled the hood release and then got out.
Nothing appeared to be wrong under the hood.
Then the engine should start.
A bad feeling niggling in the back of his brain, Trinity walked around to the side of the car where the scuffling had taken place.
Most of the rounds that had gotten pulled off from Lane’s handgun had gone into the side of the vehicle between the wheel and the passenger compartment.
Trinity shook his head.
He didn’t know what one or more of the bullets could have hit and it had to be a one in a thousand possibility, but something about the vehicle’s electrical system had apparently been damaged.
The engine would not turn over. The interior lights wouldn’t come on. No heat. No radio. Nothing.
Trinity searched for Lane’s cell phone, starting with the first place they’d fallen to the cold, frozen grass. After a minutes’ frustration, he found it on the ground a few feet from the car.
“Blast it!” He tried a number of different combinations to unlock the keypad. None worked. The fifth attempt disabled the phone entirely.
“Perfect.” He tossed it deep into the woods as well.
Trinity stared down the dark, desolate road. He knew the way from here. But it was quite a distance when measured in steps. He’d just have to run it. If he was lucky there would be a house along the way.
If he was even luckier Simon and Jim would pick up their route on one or more of the city’s traffic cams and maybe, just maybe they would come in this direction.
Until then, he was on his own.
On foot.
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday, December 23rd, 12:01 a.m.
Von rubbed her hip and stared at the ceiling.
She’d almost made it that time.
But that worthless folding chair kept folding at just the wrong moment and throwing her off balance.
“One more time.”
The guys in the other room surely had heard her bumping around in here but no one had come to see what she was doing.
Maybe they didn’t care as long as they knew she was in here and more money was on the way.
Whatever.
She’d pushed the metal cart against the wall, then braced one of the folding chairs beneath its wheels to ensure it didn’t roll away. The second chair she’d stacked on top of the cart to give her the height she needed to reach the drop-style ceiling. This close to the wall the support system would be well braced and she should be able to move a tile aside and climb up there.
Her goal was to move across the ceiling and see what was in the room to her right. The bathroom was to her left. No point looking there first.
The cart had more duct tape and rope and nothing else. She’d wrapped a length of rope around her waist in case she needed it and pocketed a roll of duct tape. Then she’d taped the heck out of the chair in hopes of preventing it from folding.
She climbed onto the cart. Took a breath and stepped up onto the seat of the rickety chair.
She could reach the tile directly over her head with her hands and had successfully pushed it out of the way the last go around. But pulling herself up there was proving the difficulty.
Her gloves had so far prevented the metal of the brace work from cutting into her palms. She grabbed on and closed her eyes.
Pull.
Her arms shook with exhaustion from the previous three attempts.
“Don’t give up. Don’t give up,” she murmured.
Be strong! Pull!
Her head and shoulders rose above the brace work. She dared to release her hold with her left hand and swing her arm over the support beam.
Take a breath.
Relax a second.
She was halfway there.
It was dark as pitch up there. She let go with her right hand and wrapped that arm around the broad support beam that ran atop the wall that separated her room from the next one.
If she could get up onto the beam, she could slide a tile away on the other side of the dividing wall just enough to see who or what was in there.
She leaned forward with her upper torso, snaked her right leg upward. Getting her leg and booted foot through the opening and swung up onto the beam was a major hurdle…but she made it.
With a little more effort she was lying facedown along the length of the beam.
Lights were on in the neighboring room. She reached down and lifted the corner of the nearest acoustic ceiling tile.
Slowly…don’t make a sound.
The room appeared to be empty…at least what she could see of it.
She leaned her head down. Dared to raise the tile a little higher.
Something darted across the room.
Von blinked.
What the…?
She lifted the tile higher still.
Her heart stumbled.
Six children, all small girls, huddled against the wall farthest from her.
Dear God.
Tiny gasps echoed in the room.
Six sets of eyes were suddenly focused on the ceiling.
Von hadn’t realized she’d said the words out loud.
She managed to get a finger to her lips in the universal gesture for quiet.
With effort she slid the tile completely aside, leaving an opening about eighteen inches by thirty-six inches, the same as the one she’d climbed up through. The only difference was there wouldn’t be a chair or cart on this side of the wall for her to drop down onto.
Couldn’t be helped.
She had to get down there.
Holding her breath and fighting her quivering muscles, she eased one leg, then the other over the edge of the beam and through the opening.
She hung onto the beam with both arms wrapped around it.
Next she had to ease downward until she was holding on with nothing but her fingers.
From there it would be a four foot or so drop.
Good thing she hadn’t worn high heels.
“Who are you?”
The gasp she heard then was her own. She took a breath, told her pulse rate to slow. “My name is Von. I’m here to help you.”
Lots of whispering and moving about below her.
Von tried to see what was going on, but all she could see was the children gathered somewhere beneath her.
“You need to move so I can drop down,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
More whispering and a couple of groans.
“Here.” Something touched Von’s foot.
As best she could tell the children had made a support bridge of sorts and were attempting to help her down.
“I might hurt you,” Von argued softly. “You should move.”
“Just let go,” a small voice urged.
Von held her breath and forced her fingers to release from the steel beam.
She slid down the wall.
Literally.
Little hands and bodies kept her pressed against the wall so she landed upright and on her feet.
Other than a stinging cheek, she was okay.
When she turned around, six small girls were huddled a few feet away, wide eyes staring at her.
“Did the police send you?” the girl who looked to be the oldest, maybe ten, asked.
“No,” another whispered gruffly. “God sent her, silly.”
Von held her finger to her lips once more, then hurried over to the door to listen. The men were talking, arguing maybe. She couldn’t make out the words, but they were definitely having a fierce discussion.
She turned and surveyed the room that was all white and square just exactly as hers had been only without the cart and folding chairs.
How the heck was she going to get these kids out of here?
She moved toward the huddle of girls. Terror lit in their eyes.
“Are there others here?”
“See,” a little red-haired girl grumbled,
“she’s not an angel. If she was she’d know that.”
Her status had just dropped several notches. “We don’t have time to talk about that now. Just tell me how many others are here.”
The oldest stepped forward. “I saw six others.”
Twelve. For Pete’s sake. “Are you all okay?” She surveyed the small faces. “I mean, are you hurt in any way? Cut? Bruised? Bleeding?”
Heads wagged side to side.
“Good.” Von moistened her lips. “What about the others?”
“One little girl was crying a lot,” the oldest said.
“Way more than the rest of us,” the redhead added.
Could be scared. Could be hurt. “You didn’t see any injury? No blood or anything?”
Heads wagged in unison once more.
“Okay.” What next? “What’re your names?”
“Tara,” said the oldest.
“April.” The redhead.
They went down the line from there. Janey had blond hair. Katie, brown. Sophie had coal-black hair.
And Lydia had brown corkscrew curls. They ranged in age from seven to ten.
All lived in Chicago or nearby towns.
There were a lot of questions Von would have liked to ask, but she had to focus on finding a way out.
Maybe if she could get them up into the ceiling cavity, their captors would think they had escaped.
It might work.
Except, as far as Von could see, there was no way to escape. Yet, hiding was the only step she could take to protect them. She couldn’t do nothing.
But then how would she get up there? Being found in this room would be a surefire indication of exactly what had gone down.
Her hands settled on her waist.
She looked down.
The rope.
Inspiration had adrenaline firing in her veins.
“I need you to help me get back up there,” she said to the oldest.
Renewed terror flashed in six sets of eyes.
She touched the rope at her waist. “I’m going to pull each of you up, too. But I have to get up there first.”
Lips quivered and tears flowed down the cheeks of two of the girls.
Tara turned to the clutch of girls. “Listen,” she whispered fiercely. “Von’s here to help us. We have to listen to her. Okay?”
Little heads bobbed up and down.
Tara turned back to Von. “Tell me what to do.”
