by Kylie Brant
The beds were both made. Empty. She walked swiftly to the bathroom and drew back the shower curtain. The boy looked up at her, the tape still secure over his mouth and around his wrists and ankles. She held her finger to her lips and then pulled the curtains closed again as she heard the door opening. Undoing her jeans, she sat down on the toilet. Jesus, she hadn’t pissed all day. Although it had been a near thing the way Mase had driven that fucking motorcycle over curbs and through yards. Her back would be screaming in the morning.
She heard him at the door and hurried to finish. Zipping up, she went to the door and unlatched the security latch. He brushed past her to disappear into the bathroom. Shutting the motel door after him, she re-engaged the lock.
Wearily, she took the backpack off and heaved it on the bed so she could unzip it and take out the laptop. The thing hadn’t seemed particularly heavy until she’d carried it most of the damn day. She powered up the computer then went to the second laptop she’d left sitting on the dresser and turned it on, too.
Mase walked out of the bathroom, minus the cap and facial hair, his jeans still unbuttoned. “Fucking jail food made me fat. This is my size, but they’re tighter than shit.”
“You’ll work it off soon enough.”
He leered at her. “That your way of saying you wanna fuck?”
Vickie didn’t bother looking up. Like most guys, he was ready all the time. “That’ll wait. Let’s get this thing done first.”
“Jesus, you’re greedy.”
“I’m practical,” she corrected him, looking up. He was right, she realized. He still had his over-muscled physique, but in that shirt he was wearing she could see the start of a gut. He’d also had to come off the ’roids he’d been taking ever since she’d known him while in jail, too. Which, given the hair-trigger temper he’d developed, didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
“First things first.” She tried to temper her words with a promising smile, but the truth was she was still jumpy from today. She felt an adrenaline crash coming on.
“Fine.” He grabbed one of the computers and dropped down on the bed with it. Began typing.
Vickie brought up the URL of the Cayman bank and typed in the account number. Waited for him to do the same.
Bankers in the Cayman Islands must be used to people making strange requests. The one they’d contacted several months ago hadn’t even hesitated when they’d asked for a secure account with two codes, each to be entered from a different computer simultaneously. Neither of them could access it without the other. Neither of them knew the other’s access number.
“Okay. Ready?”
“Quit looking over here. Jesus.”
“Stop your damn stalling. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
The account opened on her screen. And the amount…shit, the amount made her so damn happy. Of course, only half of it was hers. She opened the computer calculator and did a quick calculation. Gave him the amount.
“Already did it in my head.”
She snorted. Mase had some fucking evil ideas that rocked, but a mathematician he wasn’t. “I’m transferring mine now.”
“Just your half.” He looked up from the other bed to scowl. “I’m not paying for any of that shit you bought.”
Asshole. “Whatever.” She did a quick online transfer of precisely half the amount to a second account in her name that had been opened at the same time as this one and left empty save the mandatory deposit. “Got it.”
“Gimme a minute.” Several moments passed before he looked up. Set the computer aside. “Ok, done.”
The task completed, Vickie felt herself relax a bit. “Okay. I’ll order some room service. We can eat while we discuss where we’re going from here. I’ve been thinking Arizona. What d’you think about that, Mase? We’d never have to be cold again.”
“I don’t mind the cold.” He got up and rummaged around on the desk. Came up with the motel menu. “It’s the fucking heat I’m sick of. I’m thinking Colorado. Maybe Idaho.”
Idaho? Where the hell would they find rich women in Idaho? They couldn’t have more than a couple thousand people in the whole damn state. “Colorado sounds good. Denver, maybe. Or live in Boulder, hunt in Denver.” Setting the laptop aside, she stretched out on the bed, tucked her hands behind her head and allowed herself to dream. They could run the same operation, new geography. The trick might be to move around more. They’d stayed in Iowa too damn long, long enough for the cops to connect the dots.
“You aren’t coming with me.”
She sat up on the bed. Stared at him. “What?”
He didn’t even bother to look up. “Think about it. They’re looking for the two of us together. We gotta split up. If I go west, you go east. You just aren’t coming with me.”
Fucker. Her temper ignited, springing immediately into a full-blown conflagration. “Convenient that you tell me that after I bust my ass helping you escape.”
He did look up then, and the expression on his face was menacing. “You helped because that was the deal. If either of us got caught, the other planned the escape. You helped because you wanted half of the money. So don’t pretend it was any more than that. Fact is, Vick, you need me more than I need you to continue this operation. We had a good run, but it’s over. Tomorrow you’re giving me the car you’ve got stashed here and I’m heading out.”
Fuck that shit. But she just lifted a shoulder, laid back down. Mase slept like the dead. She’d be out of here before he even thought about waking up. Let him find his own way to fucking Colorado. She’d done enough.
He got up then, headed toward the bathroom. “I gotta take a shit. Order me a goddamn steak. A ribeye. With a mountain of fries and a six pack of beer.”
Vickie didn’t move. He was fucking kidding himself if he thought he’d be hard to replace. Men who liked to rape and torture and watch women suffer were not all that hard to find. She oughta know. She’d been raised by one.
“What the fuck!” When she heard the shower curtain being yanked open, Vickie jumped to her feet. Ran into the bathroom. Mase was standing over the bathtub, fists clenched. The kid looked little. Scared. Lying there tied up in a puddle of piss.
She had a sudden flash of Sonny when he was about the same age. Shaking. Crying. Trying to shit himself so whatever guy was there wouldn’t do to him what he knew was coming.
Mase turned on her with a suddenness that was startling. And though she’d never been one to back down from him, Vickie took a step back. And then another.
“What the fuck is he doing still alive?”
“I’m thinking about keeping him.”
Vance clasped his head in both hands and bent forward, as if in pain. “Oh, sweet Jesus, the fucking stupidity. You want a pet, get a fucking dog. You shoulda never had the kid you did. After having you for a mother he was a total loony tune. That’s actually worse than death.”
She grabbed the heavy makeup mirror off the vanity and swung it at him. He knocked it out of her hand and pulled the weapon out of his waistband in one motion. “You can’t do it, that it? Too soft?” He swung the barrel of the gun in the boy’s direction. “I’ll do it myself.”
“You idiot. Think no one will report a gunshot?”
He turned back to her, took two quick steps to press the weapon hard against her forehead. “Then you. Do. It.” He pressed the barrel harder against her flesh to punctuate his words. “Figure out a way, but do it now. Jesus. I have to tell you every fucking thing.”
“Okay, okay. I got something in my purse. Took it from a vet. It’s something they use to put animals down.”
“I don’t give a shit what it is. Just finish it.”
She went to her purse that she’d left in the room that day. Unzipped it and carefully took out the syringe she’d taken from Davis’s office. “You need to pick him up.”
“Do it yourself.” He elbowed his way past her.
“Seriously,” she insisted. “Get over and pick him up. I have to give t
he shot in his ass.”
“I’m going to give you something in your ass when this is done. Stupid bitch.” But he bent down and knelt over the tub. Reached down.
Vickie rushed forward and knocked him off balance while ramming the length of the needle in his jugular, depressing the plunger. He was quicker than Davis had been. And a helluva lot stronger. He straightened with a roar, his hand gripping hers. They struggled for an instant, while she tried to maintain her pressure on the plunger to shoot as much of the Micotil in as possible, before he overpowered her and yanked the needle out.
She turned to run. Her gun was in her purse, and her only chance was to reach it. There was no telling how much of that shit she’d shot into him, but it’d take more to take him down than it had Davis.
His hand grabbed her hair, yanked her backwards. Off balance, she fell into him and he went to his knees. Swayed. “Kill you. Kill you, bi--.” As if in slow motion, he fell forward and was still.
His fingers flexed a fraction. Then went motionless. She reached up to disentangle her hair from his grip. She turned and looked at his eyes. They were fixed, but there was still awareness in them. “See that temper of yours, I always said it was a problem,” she told him conversationally. She brought back her foot and kicked him as hard as she could in the ribs. Because she was still pissed, she did it a few more times. He didn’t blink. And the awareness that had been there a moment ago was gone.
“Asshole,” she muttered. “Always had to have it your own way. Always thought you were so fucking smart. Well, guess what, asshole? Turns out it’s not so hard to download spyware that will help me retrieve your new account access. You taught yourself about explosives, and I taught myself a thing or two about computers. Who’s the dumbass now?” After one last kick, she’d calmed enough to look at the boy.
Was immediately irritated when he cowered beneath her gaze. “I just saved your ass, kid, so you oughta be grateful.”
She reached down and pulled him to his feet, then hoisted him out of the tub and over Vance’s body. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “God, you stink. I’m going to cut off the duct tape and you need to change your clothes. Then we’re both taking a nap. I’ve had a helluva day.”
Chapter 11
Cam couldn’t let himself think about the enormity of the task they were engaged in. It would be too easy to run the mental odds and get discouraged. So he focused on how damn close they were. And making sure that the loop he’d set up around the area would eventually tighten around the two escaped killers.
The metro area was the nucleus of the search, but they’d radiate from the hub as needed. Outside Des Moines and its suburbs, they still had Ames and Ankeny, good-sized cities in their own right and within easy driving distance.
The DMPD, State Patrol and police departments from all the suburbs were joining in the search. Some of the sheriff departments, like Polk and Boone, had dispatched officers to assist, as well.
He’d arranged to meet up with Franks and Sophie at DCI offices to get some of his notes and plan strategy. Sophie had taken charge of the mapmaking, and had an interactive metro map showing on the screen of her computer. She’d highlighted the search area, and dotted it with red ‘X’s to correlate with the motels they’d learned that offered extended stays. At Cam’s direction she’d divided the area into quadrants. Then had partitioned those into smaller sections, with initials attached to each. Cam had assigned an agent to supervise each multi-agency team that was combing through each smaller area. He was taking one himself.
It was meticulous work and he hoped a tight enough net that would entrap the two killers if they had headed back this way. If they had already left… He gave a mental shrug. Patrol officers and State Patrol were giving city and state roads the same scrutiny. If the Toyota or Impala were in the open, eventually it’d be found.
Sophie spoke then, and it was as if she’d read his thoughts. “Two vehicles. One for each of them if they decide to split up.”
“They have to realize the Toyota was likely reported as stolen.” He hated to give Vance and Baxter too much credit, but it wouldn’t pay to underestimate them. “They’d abandon it. Or switch plates, if possible.”
She raised a brow. “So you’re thinking the Impala is the vehicle they’ll take? Baxter can’t know we have it identified.”
“That’s my guess.” He pulled into the lot for a motel that was on his list. Cruised slowly past the rows of cars. They’d go inside after checking the vehicles, even after not finding the ones they were looking for. The registration still had to be checked for anyone fitting Baxter’s description. The one upside to the process was that the motel managers who’d watched the news today were eager to cooperate.
“How many motels do you think she might have used?” Cam stared as the cars, slowing down when he met one that was the right make and color. Moving on after checking the plates. “Seriously. Paranoia keeps you safe to a point and then you’re just throwing money away. I can’t see her wasting cash.”
“Well, we can guess it’s more than three.” Her voice was dry. Baxter hadn’t returned to any of the ones they’d discovered. “So at least four. No more than seven. I’d guess four or five. That would allow her to hit one every week, maybe twice a week, move on. It’s not a cash thing, since she’s using fake cards. It’s an exposure issue.”
“There you go thinking like a cop again.”
She pretended to shudder. “Please. So far today I’ve seen the bomb squad in action, a tactical entry unit and then you tearing off after a couple deranged killers. I hardly think I’m in your league.”
“You’re not, Soph.” He was deadly serious. “You’re in a league of your own.”
The parking lot was a bust. Cam pulled under the canopy in front of the motel. She handed his cell back to him. She’d been reading out loud to him the updated texts agents had been sending, then crossing off the areas they’d covered. “Bring your laptop inside in case we get another update.”
She gave him a mock salute. “Wrong hand, private. Although,” he got out of the car, “I guess I should be glad you used all your fingers.”
Smiling, she slid out her side, laptop under her arm. “Ah, you mean the one-fingered salute. Eloquent in its own right.” His cell rang then, the pilot’s number showing on the screen. Pulse quickening, Cam answered it.
“You have a motel located between Forest and University?”
“Just a minute.” They both went to the hood of the car so Sophie could set the computer atop it. He studied the screen. “Yep. We’ve got one. It hasn’t been checked yet.”
“Looks like it’s got an Impala matching your description. Maybe not the Toyota. Can’t tell, although there’s a red car out in the van lot.”
Adrenaline fired through his veins. “Stay in the area. We may need eyes.”
“You got it.”
He peered at the screen for a moment. Then dialed a number. “Jenna. We’ve got an aerial sighting of the Impala at the motel in your section between Forest and University. I’m on my way, but you and Beckett are closer.”
“We’re on it,” came her response.
They both got back in the Crown Vic and Cam drove to the driveway of the motel, hesitated. Looked at Sophie.
“Oh, no,” she said firmly. “You are not even thinking about leaving me behind.” Urgency outweighed fear for her safety. He didn’t have time to argue with her.
Activating his dash strobe, he pulled out into the street. Accelerated. But if the need arose, he told himself grimly, she’d stay put wherever the hell he thought safest.
Because there was no way in hell he was letting Vance or Baxter anywhere near her again.
