by Misty Evans
Gerard’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. His jaw locked for a second and he scanned the area. “So someone in that group killed Turner and now they’ve got Hope?”
Brice nodded, the fear once again cramping his stomach. I failed to keep her safe. This is on me.
“Block has a horse farm about twelve miles west of here that’s up for sale. Has been for a while,” Gerard told him. “It looks abandoned from what I saw on Google Maps. Block bought the place for his wife ten years ago but she died last year and he let it go. Ironically, she was on his miracle drug, Donazem. If I wanted to make someone disappear, a place like that would be perfect.”
Mitch snapped his fingers at Brice to get his attention. “The drone is half a mile out. Where do you want Teeg to send it?”
“Drone?” Gerard said, at the same time Brice felt a spark of optimism.
Teeg’s drone. It could fly over the area and look for Hope. “What’s the address of the farm?” he said to Gerard.
Gerard put the SUV in reverse. “It’s the only one on 9 Mile Way. Forty acres with two giant horse barns, a carriage house, and a covered round pen. You can’t miss it.”
Mitch nodded and relayed the info to Teeg. Brice hustled back to his truck. “Do you know what type of vehicle Block drives?”
Gerard flipped on his sunglasses and nodded. “He has three vehicles registered to him. A black Escalade, a red Porsche, a white TT Cruiser.”
Overhead, the buzz of a propeller made all three men look up.
The drone zoomed by, tipping its wings before disappearing over the tree line.
“I’ll head that way,” Gerard said. “Text me if you get a hit.”
Mitch and Brice jumped in Brice’s truck. Mitch was staring at this phone’s screen. “Damn, that thing is fast.”
Brice leaned over. “You’re getting video feed from the drone?”
“Teeg is streaming it directly to my phone. It’s already six miles from here, and lookie there…”
Mitch pointed to the screen. The aerial view from the drone’s camera was clear as a bell. A small red car was flying up the highway.
The drone seemed to drop elevation, zeroing in on the vehicle’s back end. Brice’s stomach contracted. The muscles in his neck tightened another notch. “Red Porsche Carrera.”
“Let’s go,” Mitch said, grabbing his seat belt.
Brice had already put the truck in gear and was wheeling out of the parking lot.
Hope awakened to a wicked case of stomach heaves. She gagged once, fought the rising bile in her throat and swallowed it back.
Arms.
She shifted, but her arms wouldn’t move and her hands had fallen asleep. She looked down, waited a few seconds for her blurry vision to clear and hone in on her wrists where gouging pain cut into them. She wiggled her fingers to get some blood moving and reduce the pricklies.
Where?
Zip-tied. Her wrists were zip-tied to the arms of a chair. Wooden chair. Heavy. From a dining set. Where the hell was she?
Head throbbing, she rested her head against the high-backed chair and ticked back to the park, meeting Dr. Block, the creepy feeling, the breath spray.
The spray.
What have I done?
Piercing whacks ripped through her head and she squeezed her eyes closed. Whatever he’d sprayed her with had cold-cocked her. Bam. She’d gone out. And the after-effects? No picnic.
“Help,” she said, her voice more of a croak than any kind of demand.
Her tongue was huge and dry in her mouth. At least it felt huge. Swelled. Most definitely. She opened her mouth again, stretched her tongue, testing it. If she could reach up and touch it she would have done so, just to get a sense of whether it was, in fact, giant or whether the extreme parch led her to believe it.
So thirsty.
“Help,” she called again. This time louder.
Getting her bearings, she scanned the room. Some sort of study with an oversized, dust-covered desk and empty book shelves lining the walls. In the corner sat a clump of what appeared to be covered furniture. Two narrow windows just beyond had blinds pulled low, blocking her view of the outside. She breathed in, felt the dry dust travel down her throat and coughed. Wherever she was, it hadn’t been cleaned in a while.
House.
Block’s?
The crushing pain in her head subsided for a few seconds. Brief, but long enough for her to know that yes, she was alone, tied to a chair and most definitely not in the place where she’d told Hawk he could find her.
Whatever this was, she was on her own.
And tied to a chair.
But her legs were free. Think. Ignoring the tingling in her hands, she gripped the front of the seat where her hands were bound, tried to wrap her fingers all the way around it for leverage. Damned tiny hands wouldn’t reach that far.
Make it work.
She jerked up, tried to stand, her fingers taking the brunt of the pressure from the weight of the wooden chair. Slipping. Only the front legs lifted and she gripped tighter and tighter—come on, come on. The back legs scraped against the wood floor and she stretched her fingers apart. Better grip. That’s all she needed.
After readjusting her hands, she lifted again. Won’t work. Her hands were too far forward for her to balance the weight of the heavy chair.
“Don’t bother. You’re not going anywhere.”
Hope found Martin Block leaning casually against the archway leading to a hall. Watching the whole show.
What the hell was he doing?
“This might be a stupid question,” she said, “but are you insane? I told people I was meeting you.”
Block grinned. “And I will tell them we had our meeting and I left. There are no security cameras at the park and I’m a distinguished scientist. You’re a young, stupid girl who chose to wander a city park alone.” He swiped his hands together. “None of this comes back to me.”
Meaning, Hope wouldn’t be leaving. At least not outside of a body bag.
Block boosted off the archway, stuck his hands into his pockets and entered the room. “The plan was near perfect. Except for that idiot Bigley.” He waggled one finger. “I knew he’d be a problem. All that moron had to do was get Turner to assign him our case. That’s all.”
“But,” Hope said, “Turner assigned Kenton Labs to someone else.”
“Exactly, my point. Quarter of a million dollars should have guaranteed it. He assured me it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Quarter of a million… Dear God. Hope closed her eyes. Joel Bigley’s mistakes obviously didn’t end with accepting a trip from Winslow. She opened her eyes again, watched Block wander to the desk just a few feet from her and prop on the edge.
“You paid him to come up with and provide Turner with a sound argument for extending the patent?”
“You bet your ass we did.”
“Who?”
He waved that off. “Doesn’t matter now, but you could figure it out if you tried.”
“Like I figured out that you receive a bonus based on Donazem’s total sales. And the lobbyist. Charley Winslow. He stood to make a bundle.”
Block waggled his finger again, a twisted grin lighting up his face. “Now you’re getting it.”
“And then there are the stock options.”
Block held his hands in prayer, did a little bow. “I knew you were a smart girl.”
She sure was. All that reading she’d done on Dr. Block and Donazem told her the drug had taken fourteen years to come to fruition. A three-billion-dollar cash cow. Dr. Block wouldn’t want to give up on that.
Block raised his arms. “Donazem bought me this farm. It bought me a career and a life. It’s my baby. And no one gets to take it from me.”
The room went quiet, but the wind, that same wind from earlier, had picked up and rattled against the windows. She wiggled her fingers, got some blood moving again.
“Please,” she said, “would you untie me? Just for a minute. The plasti
c is painful.”
“Tell me who you told about me.”
“About you?”
“You called me for an interview. Something led you to me. Who knows? Who are these people you told about me?”
A piercing blare sounded from the outer hall and Block launched off the desk, snatched his cell phone from his pocket. Block’s lips pressed into a tight line.
“Goddammit,” he said.
He snatched scissors from the desk drawer, slamming it shut and rushed toward her, his movements hard and jerking as he slid the scissors against her skin. She flinched at the cold metal, but gripped the cushion, forcing herself still.
“What are you doing?”
“Shut up.”
The blaring noise continued as he snapped the second zip-tie, grabbed her by the arm just above her elbow and hauled her to her feet.
“Try anything and I’ll kill you. Now let’s go.”
He squeezed her arm tighter, the tips of his fingers ripping into her flesh as she stumbled to keep up.
“What’s that noise?”
“Motion detectors. Someone just climbed the east fence. Looks like your boyfriend is here.”
Hawk.
He’d found her. Relief mixed with fear. Block was seriously unhinged. Whatever his plan was, she didn’t think he intended on her leaving this farm alive. He couldn’t risk her going to the police.
And now, Hawk had inserted himself into the middle of it. Block would kill them both. No doubt.
At the hallway, Block turned right, dragging Hope toward the back of the house, through the kitchen to an oversized mudroom with an outside door. He flipped the lock, shoved her through. Ten yards in front of them, a driveway wrapped from the front of the house to a barn and a battered work truck.
Freedom.
“We’re getting in that truck. Try anything and I’ll hit you hard enough to knock you out for a week. Understood?”
Hope nodded, but her mind reeled. Freedom. Hawk.
Block gripped her tighter, hurrying her along and she stumbled, the momentum carrying enough force that she went down, breaking the contact with Block.
Run.
She kicked out, drove the heel of her flat shoe right into his knee. The knee buckled and he howled.
“Goddammit!”
On all fours, Hope scrambled, her shoes sliding against the cold pavers as she got to her feet. Had to get away. The knee wouldn’t incapacitate Block. She knew it. Hadn’t kicked him hard enough for that.
Weapon. She needed one.
She took off toward the barn. One door was cracked open and she squeezed through, shutting it behind her. A stream of light shined in a high window illuminating the space enough for her to see. On the wall hung various tools. Scythes, saws, sickles. Exceptional weapons. Sickle. That was the one. Small enough for her to hold in one hand and easy to maneuver.
She just needed to avoid falling again and slicing herself open.
A squeak. Behind her. The door.
She turned.
Block stood in the doorway, one door half open, his body backlit by the outside light. She raised the sickle, jabbed it toward him.
“Ms. Denby, don’t be stupid. Put that down before you hurt yourself.”
Stupid. Ha. One thing she’d never been was stupid. The brilliant doctor was about to learn that.
“Come near me and I’ll gut you.”
“Barn. She’s in the small barn on the south side.” Brice hopped another wooden fence, his breath coming hard as he relayed instructions to Mitch and Tony, who were coming at the place from opposite sides.
With only three of them, it was challenging to keep all the house exits in sight, but he’d been lucky. He’d seen Hope jet out the side door of the house as he approached. She’d hightailed it across the lawn to the nearest barn. “Block is following her.”
“Roger that,” Gerard said. The three of them were connected via earpieces Mitch had grabbed before leaving the armory. Never leave home without ’em, he’d claimed. “Weapons?”
Brice hit the edge of the utility barn, flattened his body against it and lowered his voice. “None that I saw, but we can’t be too careful.”
“I’m armed.” A grunt, as if he, too, had just jumped something. “I’m approaching from the north. I’ll wait for your lead.”
After all this time, and all the fighting against working with anyone, here he was with a partner. Two to be exact.
“I’m armed as well.” He saw a flash of Mitch sneaking around to his right. “I’m in position.”
Great. I’m the only one who’s not armed. The barn door was two feet away. Brice inched closer, heard the low sound of Block speaking, then Hope’s reply and the scientist’s laugh.
Another inch. The door was ajar. If he could take Block by surprise, he wouldn’t need a weapon.
Wind blew through his hair. Mitch, now appearing at the opposite corner, had a sleek Glock in hand, pointed at the sky.
Brice crept the last few centimeters and peeked into the barn.
The interior was half in shadows, a few rays of sunlight coming through small, square windows, high on the walls. The scientist blocked Brice’s view, but he saw a flash of blond hair behind the man and the glint of sunlight off metal.
Hope.
The previous fear was replaced with anger. White-hot and all encompassing, Brice balled his hands into fists and squeezed hard. Martin Block was no longer a person.
He was a target.
Medium height. The coat hid his frame, but Brice guessed his weight at a hundred-and-fifty, maybe a hundred-and-sixty pounds. Non-military.
Easy target.
“I assume these men trespassing on my property know all about Charley’s little scheme?” Block was saying.
“Charley’s scheme?” Hope took a step back. “Donazem was your baby, your cash cow. Seems like you had as much, if not more, to lose as Charley Winslow.”
“If you say so.”
“Oh, hold on.”
“Shut up, Ms. Denby.”
“Charley knew the right people to make it happen. So, maybe you suggested something and Charley put the players onto the chessboard. What about the cabbie and the shooter? Did he line them up? Or was that you? After all,” Hope said, her tone goading. “You’re the brilliant one. And with the money he stood to make, he needed that patent as much as you did.”
Block advanced a step and Hope moved back, matching him but shifting to the scientist’s left enough that Brice could see her face. She held a sickle in her hands and swung it, although awkwardly, as if she’d never held one before. “Stay away from me! I know Krav Maga!”
When this was over, he was teaching her some actual Krav moves.
Her face was set, but he knew her well enough to see the strain of fear behind her assertive body posture. A renewed fury burned through his veins.
I’ll kill him.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go until I know if you have any real proof,” Block said, closing the gap between them. “And if this is going to blow up, I need to be far away from here as soon as possible.”
“Where are you going?” Hope asked. “Barbados? They have an extradition treaty with the U.S. You won’t be safe there.”
Her brashness nearly made Brice laugh. She was right, of course.
He still couldn’t tell if Block was armed, but if he was, the gun was still under his coat somewhere, not in his hands.
No time like the present.
He nodded at Mitch and signaled he was going in.
Mitch gave him a chin cock. Go.
Brice stepped inside. “We have plenty of proof, you asshole, and I’m taking it straight to the Justice Department when I’m finished with you.”
“Brice!” Hope yelled.
Brice. Not Hawk.
As expected, Block whirled in Brice’s direction. Only then did Brice see the gun as the man went to pull it from his waistline where it was secured by his belt.
Hope saw it too. As
Brice launched himself forward to grab the gun from Block’s hand, Hope bought the sickle around.
It was a cacophony of errors.
The sickle blade made contact with Brice’s bicep, splitting open his shirt and ripping a long gash of his skin. It then stabbed Block in the ribcage just as Block jerked the gun free.
The man howled, the gun went off, and Brice seized the weapon, all at the same time.
A sharp pain hit the top of his foot as the bullet zinged through bones and tendons. He gasped at the burning sting but held onto the gun, wrestling with Block, and sending the man to the floor.
“Oh, my God!” Hope yelled.
His instincts kicked in. Brice grabbed the man’s wrist and landed a sucker punch to his stomach.
Hope yelled again, “What I should I do?”
Blood from Brice’s arm and Block’s rib was everywhere, making Brice’s hands slippery. Block tried to roll his body like an alligator.
From his peripheral vision, Brice saw Hope take another swing. He ducked to the side, barely getting out of the way. “What the hell are you doing?”
The sickle blade landed next to Block’s ear. He yelled and the gun went off again, just as Mitch came hauling ass inside. The bullet ricocheted off the door, right above Mitch’s head.
Mitch jumped back. “Fuck!”
Hope brought the sickle up again. “I’m helping you!”
Mitch was aiming for Block, except Brice had to shift again, more from the flying sickle in Hope’s hand than from the wriggling, fighting scientist, blocking Mitch’s shot. “Well, stop,” Brice said to Hope. “I’ve got him.”
And he did. He raised the hand with the gun and slammed it into the floor, breaking the scientist’s hold. The gun went spinning away, and Mitch jumped forward at the same time Hope dropped the sickle and went for it.
At that moment, Gerard came busting in from the other end, gun raised.
Except it wasn’t Gerard.
“Hold it right there,” Felix Warren said, looking down the nose of a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson as he stalked toward them.
