Automatically she spread her legs as he kissed his way down, sucking sweat from her skin, nibbling at her belly button. He skimmed her skin, dragging his hands over her hips, inching his thumbs together right between her legs.
He glanced to their discarded, wet clothes. “If my wallet didn’t make it—” He reached to his jeans, pulling out a soggy billfold and a condom from inside. “We’re in luck.”
Her body still hummed and rocked, ready for him, aching for him. He sheathed himself and straddled her, looking down from above, his face darker than ever, his expression fierce as he lined up his body to penetrate hers.
He entered her, balancing his weight on his hands, holding her gaze, inching deeper with agonizing caution.
She felt her lids shutter as she rose up to take him in, reaching her hands to his neck and pulling him closer to her, the need for all of him overwhelming.
“Come here,” she managed to whisper, her brain faltering at the bliss of each inch as he filled her. “Come to me.”
He lowered himself and she kissed his mouth, his cheek, his scar, his missing eye. He let her, moving with abandon now, lost in the sensations that ricocheted between their bodies. Another climax took hold, twisting through her, as painful as it was pleasurable, too much to take. She gripped his shoulders and gave in to it, barely relaxing when another wave hit, taking her again as he ground into her.
Her response seemed to send him over the edge; his moans grew lower and longer and more helpless until his body shuddered with his own release, his head back, his mouth slack, his control shredded.
“Zaccaria,” she whispered. “Benvenuto a casa.” Welcome home.
“Grazie, amore mio.” He breathed the words into her ear. “Sarò sempre al tuo fianco.”
Chills danced down her spine at the romantic, foreign words. “What did you say?”
“Shhh.” He rested against her, breathless, his heart beating so hard and steady it felt like her own.
Vivi waited long enough to be able to make out shadows in the basement, a room that looked as if it was divided by stairs and unenhanced by any natural light.
“Billy?” she whispered harshly. “Are you down here?”
A muffled moan came from somewhere to her left. She tried to stand, but pain rocketed up her leg from her ankle. Twisted. Shit. She could get up and put some weight on it, but it was going to throb like a mother for a while.
“Where are you?”
Another soft grunt. Ignoring the pain, she used the banister to pull herself up, reaching out to feel her way toward the sound. She hit a wall directly in front of her, trying to picture the room. She inched left, touching nothing but air.
“Where? I can’t see a thing.”
The grunt was weaker this time. Jesus, what had the guy done to him? And why?
She limped to the sound, hearing the soft rumble of a water heater. Her hand hit metal, then stabbed into space next to it, slapping warm skin. She jerked back with a little cry.
“Is that you?”
“Mmmm.”
Carefully she reached in again, into what appeared to be about an eight-inch space between an ancient oil furnace and an even older water heater. She touched wiry short hair, and bony shoulder, a stubbly face with a cloth stuck in his mouth and a fat roll of duct tape around it.
“Can you breathe?”
“Mmmm.” That was a yes, she thought, feeling under his nostrils for air as she worked to rip the tape and ungag him.
“How did you get inside there? Never mind,” she said, knowing he was easily sixty or so. “Save your strength. I’ll get you out.”
But how? She ran her hands up and down the two units, one of which got hotter as she went lower, no doubt near a pilot flame. She couldn’t see the light until she got almost to the ground, then saw the small blue flicker of a flame.
“Can you slide out?”
He slumped a little, his strength clearly sapped. Oh, Lord. Every gas furnace gives off carbon monoxide, and in this tiny enclosed space, he was surely inhaling fumes that were otherwise dispersed safely into the basement air and into vents one would assume were built into the walls or floors.
Again, she stabbed her hand in between the units and tried to pry her fingers between him and the warm metal trying to figure out how to slide him out. When he was alert and upright, Billy could have squeezed in and out of this space. But slumped and sleepy and near death? Impossible.
Could she blow out the pilot light? Would that stop the fumes?
She knelt again, squinting into the dusty vents, finding the steady blue flame. She blew as hard as possible, flickering the flame but not even coming close to extinguishing it.
“Is there a safety switch somewhere?” she asked. “Don’t most units like this have to have some kind of off switch?”
“I do’ know,” he murmured.
The sound of the latch upstairs made her freeze. Her captor was coming back. Slowly, Vivi shifted in front of the heater, bracing her back, ready to kick the guy in the nuts the minute she sensed he was close. The door hinges squeaked and a trickle of light shone on rough wooden stairs.
When he closed the door behind him, Vivi held her breath, not moving a muscle. He probably wanted the element of surprise as much as she did, and that’s why he was keeping it dark. Without making a sound, she slipped her hand into the opening between the two units and closed her fingers in a reassuring squeeze of Billy’s narrow shoulder.
Then footsteps down the steps, the distinctive stench of gasoline arriving before he did.
Her stomach rolled. What was he planning?
She inched away from the furnace, silently slipping into a corner.
His feet hit each step with slow, deadly deliberation, kicking her heart rate up so high, she swore he’d be able to hear it.
She tensed her good leg and lifted it in preparation for a swift kick, forced to lean on the twisted ankle without releasing so much as a grunt of pain.
He walked to the furnace, then back to where she was. “We got a problem,” he said, his voice so close she knew he was right in front of her.
“Hell, yeah we do.” She shot her foot forward, hitting something hard. A gun. For a split second, she just closed her eyes, waiting for the shot, but he snagged her foot and flipped her down, then blinded her with the beam of white light in the face.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
She blinked into the industrial-strength flashlight, unable to see even the shadow of the man holding it. “What the hell do you want from me? And this guy is dying from carbon monoxide fumes—do you know that?”
He whacked the side of her head with the flashlight. “Let’s go.”
Pain exploded through her head, but she managed to push herself up, the light still blinding her. “Look, I don’t know what you want with her or me, but why are you letting this guy die?”
“Now.”
Where? But she knew better than to ask. “Him, too?”
“Just us, and if he tries, he dies.” He stepped back, still blinding her with the light. “Because right up there—” He flipped the light to the top of the furnace for one second and she automatically followed it. Then it was back in her face. “Is a container of gasoline. If our friend Billy so much as vibrates that furnace, or someone comes down here and tries to free him, that container will fall, and in a matter of seconds, the entire place will be blown to bits. Did you hear that, Billy?”
Billy didn’t even grunt, but the man grabbed her shirt and pulled her up, pushing her toward the steps. A gun jabbed her back. “Go.” He pushed her toward the stairs. “I kill for a living, my dear, so don’t even think about trying to outsmart me.”
She had been thinking about just that, but she’d wait and bide her time. He needed her for something; that much was clear. As long as he did, she was alive.
But once he didn’t…
“Billy?” she called over her back. “You’re gonna be okay, dude.” Not that she believed that for a minute. “Bi
lly?”
Silence.
CHAPTER 21
Billy.” Sam’s eyes popped open, pulled out of a fitful sleep.
“Actually, the name’s Zach.” He was dressed, pacing the tiny structure.
“I forgot about Billy. I wonder if Vivi made it over there.”
“I’m more concerned about her getting here. It’s been almost three hours.” He kneeled in front of her. “I need to do some recon. Would you be okay if I left for a few minutes?”
No. “Of course.” She glanced at her foot, swollen and throbbing. “If I went with you, I’d slow you down. What are you going to do?”
“Just check out our options.” He kissed her forehead and tipped her chin up to his face. “I’ll be back.”
After he left, she managed to pull her still-wet clothes on, then tore the pillowcase into strips to cover her foot. Then she waited in agony for him to come back. When he did, he seemed more determined than ever to get out of the pole barn.
“Our friend is still home,” he reported. “And he kindly left his garage door open with two vehicles in it. We’re going to borrow one.” He indicated her foot. “Can you put any weight on that?”
“Some. A little.” Not much. “I’ll do what I have to.” She stood, barely able to control a yelp of pain.
Zach had an arm under her in a split second. “Let’s get you to the road, and you can wait under cover while I get a car.”
Every step was sheer hell, but she made it by using him as a crutch. They limped through the woods, which seemed even more shadowy now, although the rain had stopped. At the road’s edge, he guided her into a thicket of pines, easing her to the ground, making sure she was hidden.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered.
“I’ll be fine, Zach.”
He shook his head, his body tense as he glanced around, but they obviously had no other options. She couldn’t make it all the way back to that house. At the rate she was moving, they’d be easy targets for a long time. “I should watch for Vivi anyway, in case she shows.”
“All right, but listen to me, Sam. Stay under cover, okay? Don’t stand up, don’t walk up to the road, don’t come and find me. I’ll be back.” He started to leave, then took one step closer and crouched to get face-to-face with her. “Sarò sempre al tuo fianco.”
“You have to tell me what that means.”
“When I get back.” He placed one more kiss on her forehead and left, his footsteps soundless over the bed of rain-soaked leaves, gone before she took her next breath.
Sarò sempre al tuo fianco. The words kept her calm as she planted her gaze ahead at the bit of road she could see, staying still, trying to hear every sound. It was completely silent; not even a leaf moved.
Come back to me, Zach.
The achy longing of waiting for him was a familiar sensation, but this time her heart felt different. This time, she was sure of him.
She tried to count, to figure the minutes, wishing she had a watch. She got to sixty at least five times before the anxiety that hummed through her started to turn sour. It would take him that long just to get back to the house, wouldn’t it? Maybe the owner was outside. Maybe he had to negotiate for a car.
He could, he would do what had to be done. Maybe he had managed to get into the house and call Vivi again.
She counted to sixty another seven times, or it seemed like that. Her skin crawled with the discomfort of partially dry clothes and the remnants of river water. And worry. Come on, Zach.
She got up on her knees, keeping the weight off her foot, and looked down the road, dying for a glimpse of him. From the opposite direction, she heard an engine scream. She backed deeper into the bushes just as a silver SUV came careening toward her.
The vehicle slowed as if the driver were looking for something, forcing Sam deeper into her hiding place, watching it roll by close enough to see into the open driver’s window. At the sight of spiky black hair and a familiar face, Sam jumped out into the road, relief and joy numbing the fireworks of pain in her foot as she waved wildly.
Vivi hit the brakes and met Sam’s gaze, her expression unreadable as Sam closed the space, hobbling toward the SUV.
“Get in the back,” Vivi said, her voice bizarrely strained, her eyes narrowed and fierce.
Was she mad she had to come out here? Did she not understand the severity of the situation? Sam grabbed the back door handle as Vivi calmly closed her window, the dark glass blocking her from view.
“Vivi!” Whipping the door open, Sam threw herself in. “You can’t bel—”
She saw the gun first, pointed directly at her, and then the man who pointed it at her.
“Larry?” The word croaked out.
“Do what he says, Sam. He kills for a living.”
Larry the lawyer?
“Excellent advice.” He steadied the gun, pointing it right at Sam’s head. “One misstep from either of you and Sam is dead.”
“Wha… why…” Words just stuck in Sam’s throat as her fingers closed around the door handle. Could she jump?
“Hit the accelerator hard,” he ordered. “Make a U-turn and get on the highway. Now!”
“No!” Sam cried, looking over Vivi’s shoulder in Zach’s direction. He had to at least see what kind of car she was in.
But Larry reached over and slammed his hand around her neck, yanking her down and stabbing the barrel of the gun into her temple.
“I swear to fucking God she’s dead if you don’t drive.”
Sam wanted to scream, but the hard, cold steel pierced her temple, vibrating with fury and fear. She smelled sweat and grease and gasoline, her insides turning to water with terror. All he had to do was flick his finger.
Vivi hit the gas and made the U-turn.
“Faster!”
The vehicle lurched forward, the engine loud. Maybe Zach heard that. Maybe he would follow. Or maybe she was never going to get out of this car alive.
The high-pitched wail of an engine cut through the silence of the woods, stopping Zach stone cold still in the middle of searching the open garage for a key to either car.
He waited, listening. Had Vivi come? Had she picked up Sam and they were—
Going in the wrong direction. The engine gunned again, louder and faster, and most definitely headed away from him.
What the hell? He had few options. Break, enter, and hold the guy at gunpoint for his keys? That would take the least amount of time and explanation. From the other side of the basement door, twenty-year-old rock and roll blared from tinny speakers and a man grunted as he worked out.
Zach drew his weapon and silently turned the knob of the door, remembering the layout of the basement. If the guy was on his Soloflex, he’d be facing the other way.
He peeked around the corner. An older man sat shirtless on the bench doing reps, his back to Zach. Taking one step inside, Zach saw exactly what he needed on a table ten feet away. Keys and a phone.
Waiting until the man started the next set, Zach soundlessly entered and tiptoed to the keys, closing his fingers around them so they didn’t jangle. He slipped the phone in his pocket and backed out before the old guy stopped at eight reps.
If he started either of the cars, the owner would be on the phone with the cops in seconds. He glanced at the keys and cars, picking an older Lexus sedan over the other, more muscular SUV.
In it, he turned on the ignition without starting the car, able to then slip the gear into neutral. Hopping out, he pushed the car out of the garage and as far down the drive as he could before jumping back in, turning on the engine, and thanking the Japanese for building a machine so quiet that the owner couldn’t hear it over the music, or the crunch of gravel.
On the road, he drove straight back to the copse of trees where he’d left Sam and swore mightily. She was gone.
Why would she leave? Did she go back to the barn? Why? If she was with Vivi, why not get him?
Fresh tire marks on the asphalt—marks that he knew were not there
before—pulled another heartfelt curse from his throat. The sickening reality that he didn’t want to face engulfed him as he laid on the accelerator and tried to think.
How long did he have until he got pulled over for driving a stolen car? Following the gut that kept him alive a hundred times before, he jammed on the gas, got it up to damn near ninety, and still managed to dial the phone he’d just stolen.
Marc’s answer was tentative. “Yes?”
“I need your help.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Marc demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you—”
“Sam’s in trouble. Someone has her.” God damn it, how could he have left her?
“The Irish mob,” Marc shot back. “Or the Boston PD. And not to take her in for another lineup.”
“Exactly what I’m thinking. What do you know?”
“I had an unusual meeting with Taylor Sly today.”
“The model prostitute?” Zach got the entrance for 495 and made an instant decision, heading back toward Boston.
Traffic was pretty light on this outer band highway, so he threaded the few cars while listening to Marc tell him about documents that he’d been given that indicated Devyn Sterling was the illegitimate daughter of mobster Finn MacCauley.
Nothing that told him who had Sam.
“What are you doing with that jump drive?” Zach asked.
“I talked to an agent at the Boston FBI office. Straight shooter, good guy. Except he did the only thing a straight shooter could do.”
Zach knew what he was going to say. “Contacted the lead investigator on the Sterling murder.”
“He had to, Zach. It’s hard evidence connecting a victim to a known killer, and possibly provides a motive for Sterling’s murder.”
“Is Finn MacCauley even alive?” Zach asked.
“Don’t know. But if he is, he might still wield some power. And he is still on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
“Fuck this fugitive,” Zach growled. “I only care about one thing at the moment.” He rolled up on a silver Highlander, who tapped his brakes. Idiot. He zipped around, not able to see the driver behind blackened glass. Anyone with untinted windows was getting a searching glare from him. “I can’t find her alone.”
Edge of Sight Page 26
