by Kylie Brant
Fretfully, he pushed aside the quilt his mom had spread on him. He was covered in sweat. Even his leg inside the cast felt sweaty and gross.
“Mom!” He wanted a drink of water. And he wanted to change his clothes and go to sleep in his own bed. “Mom!”
But she didn’t answer. Her bedroom was too far away. He’d have to do it on his own. And he hated the crutches. They made his armpits hurt. Sulkily, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked out the window. That was about all he could do these days and it really, really sucked. Mom said she’d call to see if Ryder or Zach could come over for a while tomorrow. But that was still a long time from now. And he was going to have this stupid cast on for five more weeks. That was more than a month before he could ride a bike or play ball. Why couldn’t he have broken his leg when he was still in school?
Something moved in the darkness outside. Carter forgot his complaints and strained to see. Angel, Ryder’s black lab might have gotten loose again. If so maybe he should call his friend’s house. The last time Angel had gotten out, the animal control people had picked him up and it had cost money to get him back.
But it wasn’t Angel. It was tall, like a man. He jumped over the fence and ran across Carter’s yard.
“Mom!” He yelled louder this time, not taking his eyes off the window. Maybe it was a robber. Maybe he was coming here.
But the man ran clear across their yard into Dr. C’s.
Forgetting his hatred of the crutches for the moment, Carter grabbed them and struggled to his feet. He went to the door of the sunroom and unlocked it. Pushing it open, he hopped awkwardly to the end of the patio and peeked around the corner of the condo. Just in time to see someone dressed all in black go into Dr. C’s house.
His stomach felt like he was going to throw up. Carter was the one who had seen the blue van in front of Dr. Channing’s last week with the funny sign on its side. He’d had to talk to that agent guy about it. And yesterday he’d heard his mom talking on the phone and she said Dr. C had been kidnapped and then gotten away.
He knew what kidnapped was. They heard all about stranger danger at school. And he wondered if Dr. C would’ve got kidnapped if Carter had seen the guy in the blue van. If he’d gotten a look at him so the police could’ve caught him before he hurt Dr. C.
Chewing his bottom lip, he considered going in to get his mom. But he already knew what she would say. That he was imagining things again and that he should go to bed.
He hadn’t imagined the guy jumping over the fence. He knew he hadn’t.
Positioning his crutches, he turned and hopped back into the house. Quiet this time. He didn’t call for his mom. Instead, he went to the kitchen, and stood in front of the refrigerator. She’d put the BB pistol his dad had bought for him way up on top, saying she’d talk to his dad about it. Carter knew that meant that he wasn’t going to get to keep it.
But right now he took one of his crutches and pushed the BB gun over the side of the fridge and then reached up to catch it when it fell.
Holding it in his hand, he immediately felt better. If there was a bad guy at Dr. C’s house again, this time Carter was going to stop him.
* * * *
The master bedroom was empty. The bed was stripped. No one had slept there recently.
To be sure, though, Sonny stepped inside the room and checked the adjoining bath. It was empty, too.
Nerves jittering through him, he slipped back into the living room and drew the penlight out of his pocket again. There was a second bedroom in the condo. Maybe Channing was sleeping in it because hers brought bad memories. Vance had taken her from her master bath. Just walked right up to the shower she was in and snatched her out of it. Vance might be an animal, but he didn’t lack balls.
Aware of the passing seconds, Sonny moved swiftly through the living room, skirting the couch and end table to approach the bedroom door that led away from the room. It was partly open. And when he peeked inside, the tightness in his chest eased a little.
This bed was occupied. Although the room was dark, it would be hard to miss the figure under the covers. He shoved his goggles to his forehead, wanting to make sure. Channing was facing away from him but he recognized the bright blond hair from Vance’s description. Sonny took four long strides toward the bed, raising his weapon as he moved.
* * * *
“Are you inside yet?”
There was a faint crackle in the radio transmitting Frank’s voice to the whisper mic Boggs wore.
“No. I’ve got movement next door. You think this guy brought a friend?”
Franks was silent for a moment. “Did you see two approaching the condo?”
“Negative.” But Boggs strained his eyes, scanning the area he’d seen the activity coming from.
“It could be the neighbor.” Which, both of them knew, could spell a very different sort of trouble for them than an accomplice.
Boggs caught another glimpse of movement. Someone was crouched on the next-door patio, pressed against the house in the shadows. He conveyed the information to the other agent, adding, “Let me know when you’re in place. I’ll go in and you can take the second guy. How far away is backup?”
“Another five.”
Boggs’ gaze traveled from the next-door patio to Channing’s condo and knew they didn’t have that long.
* * * *
A passing headlight speared through the blinds and washed the corner of the room in light for a moment. Sonny held his breath, wondering if Channing would wake. Turn over and open her eyes when he killed her.
He didn’t like it when they looked at him. He always turned them away first. Otherwise their eyes turned into Mommy’s eyes as they bulged and bugged from a face that turned into her face. Sonny didn’t like that at all.
But Channing didn’t turn over. The alarm on her bedside table clicked to the next minute reminding him of the need for haste. Three shots. Do it now.
He drew closer until he was standing over the bed. Drawing a breath to steady his aim, he squeezed the trigger.
The shots came in quick succession and even with the suppressor there was a sharp pop, pop, pop. Sonny was prepared for it. He’d been shooting since he was a teenager. But he’d never shot at anything live before. He wasn’t prepared for the blood. It spattered his clothes, his face, the gun in his hand. Panicked, he jumped back. Wiped the wetness from his chin with his sleeve, and realized it was wet, too. His stomach lurched in disgust. Lowering the gun, he yanked the goggles back in place as he turned to run from the room, from the house, forgetting the need for caution.
“DCI! Put your weapon down!”
A figure was standing behind the couch in the next room, gun drawn. Flinging himself sideways, Sonny fired twice, hitting the floor as the man returned fire. He scrabbled along the carpet on his knees and elbows. The stranger had taken shelter behind the couch. Sonny didn’t wait for him to raise his head to fire again. Instead he sent three shots through the back of the couch in the area where he’d last seen the man and raced toward the door he’d entered through. Caution was no longer an issue. Speed was. He burst through the back door, ran across the patio and was stung by a volley of what appeared to be a swarm of bees, stinging his ankles and legs.
“DCI! Lay down your weapon!”
The goggles painted the man standing before him in a ghostly green glow. But the weapon he had pointed directly at Sonny’s chest looked all too real. “Don’t shoot.” Slowly he bent to let his gun clatter to the patio. “I’m unarmed.”
“Hands behind your head. Kick the weapon to the side. Now!”
“I heard you shooting at Dr. Channing, Mister,” a small voice said almost simultaneously. “So I’m gonna shoot you!” Another volley of bees. Which weren’t bees at all, Sonny realized then, but BBs.
“Go back in the house, son. Now! Now!”
Sonny dove toward the small shadow crouched on the next patio even as a bullet sang by. He tackled a miniature body—a kid—rolling, and c
ame to his feet with the writhing boy held tightly before him.
“You don’t want to do that,” the DCI agent warned, but Sonny couldn’t hear him. It was Mommy’s voice that screamed through his mind, echoes of fear and anger clawing through him.
“Drop your gun or I break his neck.” Sonny knocked the puny BB gun out of the kid’s hand as he tried to aim it over his shoulder. He hefted him up, caught the boy’s neck in the crook of his elbow. For a kid he was heavy, one leg hanging uselessly down in front of him. “Don’t think I won’t.”
The agent made no attempt to comply. “You’re just digging a deeper hole for yourself,” he warned. “Maybe you were justified for what you did inside. We can talk about that. But there’s no going back from this.”
Sonny bent awkwardly to pick up the gun he’d dropped, making sure the kid’s head was shielding his own. The boy was heavy. In a flash of comprehension he realized the weight came from a cast on his leg. “Put your gun down. Do it!” he demanded fiercely when the agent didn’t comply. “Do you want me to kill this kid?”
“There’s no need to bring the boy into it. Let’s settle this ourselves, man to man.” The agent began to inch to the side. Sonny knew he was looking for an opening. In a flash of brilliance, he hoisted the kid up and over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, one arm clamped across his cast and free hand. The kid made a perfect human shield. And then Sonny turned and ran like a deer.
Not in the direction he’d come, but in the most direct route that would take him to his vehicle. He ran as fast as he could, but the boy was making it difficult. No longer rigid with fear, the kid was pounding his free fist into Sonny’s back. Kneeing him in the side.
He yanked sharply on the kid’s injured leg, smiled when he heard his high-pitched screech. The little bastard would behave or he wouldn’t live through this. It made no difference to Sonny either way.
He swung around to fire several shots before running again. The cop didn’t return fire. He wouldn’t dare risk hitting the kid in the dark. But he was still chasing them. Sonny shot again, causing the man to duck for cover.
Lights were flicking on in house after house. One large dog sped along the fence line Sonny was running by, barking ferociously. Sonny paused for an instant and undid the latch on the gate, before resituating the kid on his shoulders and stumbling awkwardly toward his car. With a backwards glance he smiled in satisfaction as the dog tore toward the agent who had risen to give chase again. The man halted for a few precious moments, earning Sonny the most valuable of commodities. Time.
The vehicle was just yards away now. Sonny ducked down and dumped the kid on the ground, then sprinted for his car. A volley of shots sounded, and something sharp and hot sliced into his thigh. He squealed and returned fire before jumping painfully into the car, turning the key in the ignition and squealing away.
* * * *
Agent Micki Loring met Cam at his front door, a questioning look in her ebony gaze. “We had a quiet night here.”
“Glad someone did.”
“I heard things didn’t go as planned.” He toed off his shoes and she followed him through the family room. “But if you hadn’t had the foresight to move Sophia out of her condo and into protective custody, it could have been far worse.”
Cam’s skin prickled at the reminder. He took a quick glance at his watch. Barely seven-thirty AM. Sophie was probably still asleep. At least he hoped like hell that she was. “Listen if you want to run home, grab a shower and some sleep I can get someone else in here…” he started.
“I slept on the couch and I’ve already used your shower.” She aimed him a meaningful look. “From the sounds of things you need to take your own advice.”
“Probably.” He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. A drill of frustration was jackhammering through him. Vance’s accomplice had taken the bait they’d laid so carefully. But he’d slipped through their fingers, less than two minutes before backup had arrived. The near miss was bitter.
“You talk to Franks?” From her words he assumed she’d gotten the rundown on the last few hours from someone. The scene in Sophie’s guest bedroom earlier had been chilling. If that had, in fact been Sophie laying in the bed, and not a wig-clad dummy sporting fake blood packets…an icy finger traced down his spine at the thought. Rationally he knew Sophie was fine. Safely ensconced in his condo with an agent at her side at all times.
But right now emotion trumped logic. He needed to see for himself. Just a glimpse of her sleeping peacefully might be enough to dispel the sight of that dummy blown to bits, fake blood sprayed all over the room.
Swallowing hard, he headed in the direction of his spare bedroom. And tried not to recall the times, not all that long ago, that Sophie had spent her nights in his bedroom. With him at her side.
That was history. Recent enough, unfortunately, for the details to remain stubbornly, erotically vivid.
“No, I haven’t talked to Franks. Special Agent Gonzalez filled me in.”
Cam froze in his tracks. He turned to look at Loring. “She called you?” He couldn’t figure why she would. He’d talked to Maria twice to apprise her of the events of the night as they’d unfolded.
Loring snorted indelicately. “As if. She’s here. In your office with Dr. Channing. Didn’t you see her car in the drive?”
Lack of sleep must have made him slow. “I thought it was yours,” he said numbly. Gonzalez was here. Talking to Sophie. And he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what that conversation entailed. Striding rapidly toward the hallway that would lead to the office at the back of the condo, he barely heard the agent behind him say, “My car is in your garage. Remember? You told me…”
“I don’t want to press you.” Special Agent Maria Gonzalez’s voice drifted through the half open doorway to the office. “Of course, time is of the essence, but you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Take some time to consider it.” Cam was certain he was the only one to find her words fraught with irony.
“Glad you at least recognize that Dr. Channing has been through a trauma.” Cam propped a palm on either side of the open doorway, sending a meaningful glance toward Maria.
As usual her black hair, liberally threaded with silver was pulled back, its severe style reflected in the plain dark pants and jacket she wore. She returned his gaze imperturbably. “I’m not without sympathy for what Sophia’s been through. That’s why I told her to take some time before deciding whether to resume her assistance on the task force.”
“Dr. Channing,” Sophie’s spirited response held just a hint of inflection, “is standing right here. And while I appreciate everyone’s concern, it’s unnecessary. I’m going crazy sitting around while everyone else tiptoes around me as if I’m a bomb ready to detonate. If I can continue to be of help in light of last night’s developments, of course I want to do so. Vance terrorized me while I was his captive, but I didn’t suffer what his other victims did. I’m fine. ”
Cam studied her, mingled resignation and concern threading through him. Her slender frame was wrapped in a thin thigh-length robe, her long blond hair tumbling down her back. But it was her injuries that brought a clutch to his chest. “You look fine,” he drawled, a dangerous heat to the words.
As if on cue, she flushed. The bruise on her jaw had graduated from navy to purple, ringed with yellow. Her lip was still puffy and her left arm in a splint. From the careful way she moved he realized her injuries weren’t limited to those visible.
But it was the emotional injuries that concerned him most. He knew they were there, even while she continued to deny it. Cam still suffered the occasional post-traumatic stress flashback himself from the nearly two years he’d spent undercover on a multi-agency drug taskforce. He knew from personal experience that there was no way someone could have survived what Sophie had without some collateral emotional damage.
Which is why he no longer wanted her anywhere near this case.
Clearly believing that she’d gotten what she’d come
for, Maria said, “Take all the time you need, Sophia. You can call me when you make your decision.”
Cam fixed Sophie with a look, as if by sheer force of will alone he could alter what she would say next. Their gazes did battle as she responded, “I don’t need time. I’m ready to resume my consulting duties whenever you need me.”
Maria switched her attention to Cam. “Nine o’clock briefing?” He gave a curt nod before she exited the room. He walked over to the overstuffed chair in front of the desk and sank down heavily. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. He’d been up over twenty-four hours. It was going to be a lot longer before he’d get any rest.
But it wasn’t sleep that concerned him most right now. Dropping his hands, he studied the woman who was watching him soberly. Aside from her physical injuries she looked none the worse for wear. The bruises provided stark contrast to her gilded angel appearance, highlighted the refined features and intelligent brow. Most wouldn’t notice the mauve shadows under her eyes. They were silent testament that she was anything but fine. She wasn’t sleeping. After what she’d been through, who the hell could?
Her smile was tentative. “I know what you’re thinking…”
“I made you a promise.” He heard the bleakness in his tone, was unable to temper it. Not now. Not when there was just the two of them. “Three days ago. Do you remember it?”
Something in her expression softened and she came over to lean a hip against the overstuffed arm of his chair. “You said you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me again. I believe you. That’s what this around the clock protection detail has been all about, hasn’t it? And it’s been successful. You and the rest of the team are working yourselves into the ground toward that end. The least I can do is make myself useful.”
Useful. The word was masterful understatement. No one looking at the petite blonde in the filmy pink robe would ever imagine the mind housed behind those cultured looks. Dr. Sophia Channing was a leading international expert in forensic psychology. She trained under the legendary Louis Frein of FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit. In the course of her career she’d interviewed the most notorious serial killers in captivity and her services were highly sought after by law enforcement around the country. It was in her professional capacity that she’d signed on to develop the criminal profile when they were hunting Vance.
