by Misty Dietz
Then she saw it.
A large, round metal structure.
Her heart knocked against her ribs, fingernails cut into her palms. Hurry. She struggled to make her legs move faster.
A Ferris wheel. She looked up and the air arrested in her lungs. A pale arm hung lifelessly over the edge of the uppermost seat. As Sloane stood below it, the fist jerked opened, and a sparkling light floated down to the leaden earth.
She didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to look.
Because she already knew.
Beneath the shadow of the joyless Ferris wheel, she crouched to pick up the glittering cat brooch. The brooch from her first vision only days ago. It singed her skin.
Only then did she hear the ticking. A relentless beat, a herald of death that crept across her flesh, shrouding her with its horror.
My God, the bomb.
Ann!
Sloane threw her head back to yell into the endless sea of gray, aware that her logic was beginning to slip.
Hurts. Too much. Loss. Don’t want to do it anymore.
Soon, she was floating toward a blanket of darkness. Feels good. No more pain. Leave it behind…
Sloane!
The deep sound pierced through her psyche like a million finger pricks. She fought against the pull, wanting to sleep—sleep—but the noise wrapped around her, grew louder, an arrow of golden light ever brighter until the darkness was no more.
From far away, she heard another’s harsh voice. “…a broken man with no choice but to give me the vault keys. Then I’ll learn where John has hidden Serena. And she will be mine at last.” Broken? Who?
Zack! No!
Her eyes opened, and she was momentarily blinded. She blinked to focus. Killing me. Need air. Weapon. A gilt-framed oil painting hung less than ten inches away.
I love you, Zack.
She sagged like a rag doll, her full weight shifting unexpectedly, knocking Ross off balance. As he tried to follow her down the wall, she lunged at him, teeth tearing into the soft flesh of his neck above his injury. He screamed, bringing both hands to his mangled skin. She dodged away, gagging and spitting, and ripped the painting from the wall with her good arm. She swung for all she was worth, connecting solidly with his neck. He went down with a sound she’d never forget. She kicked his midsection before she turned and bolted for the emergency exit.
Make it to the stairs. She could do stairs fast.
She was going to make it.
Two steps to the door, it swung open. “Stop!” The petite blonde aimed a pistol at Sloane.
“K-kill her!”
Feverish, Sloane watched Ross, panting, struggling to pull himself upright, bloody fingers leaving gruesome red tracks on the beige walls.
“Do it! Shoot her now, you s-stupid whore!” he roared.
Sloane prayed. Lord, send me an angel!
The woman swung the pistol toward Ross. “You rotten motherfucker.” And fired.
Once to the head.
Once to the chest.
Once to the groin.
Precise. Cold. Deadly.
In the echoing silence of the hall, she remembered Ross saying the woman’s name.
Morgan.
Sloane swung away from the carnage that had been Ross when she felt a biting sting in her neck. Jesus! Her hand went to her neck as the syringe thumped softly on the carpet. She met the blonde’s blazing blue eyes and her stone cold pistol. This ferocious woman couldn’t be Zack’s friend. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Ten…nine…eight—”
Morgan suddenly had four eyes. Then six. Sloane’s vision swam. So fuzzy. What’s…happening… “Zack?” she whispered.
A smile teased the edges of Morgan’s lips. “Mine.”
Sloane’s stomach rose to meet her throat.
Oh fu—
Then nothing.
Chapter Thirty
One way or another, the flames of Hell were coming for him. Zack hung up with Archie and felt the fire because he was going to murder Ross Julik with his bare hands if he so much as sneezed on Sloane. Archie’s stunned disbelief had only made Zack’s anger burn that much hotter.
Rage like a tidal wave moving across acres of water—building, rising, consuming—flowed through him. A line of cars waited at a red light so he jumped the curb and took the bike path, turning right at the intersection, cutting off oncoming traffic. Horns blared, but he stepped on the accelerator and mentally charted a less congested route to the office.
Until he got behind a line of cars in a funeral procession.
Dammit! He turned at the next corner, but it was slow going because he was afraid of hitting a little kid in this residential part of town.
All the devastation…
Ross. Did everything come back to him?
The inexplicable financial trouble Samuel’s was experiencing. Ann’s disappearance. Dallan O’Neill’s death. Tori’s horrific ordeal. Sloane’s building fire. The O’Neill kids…
While he couldn’t connect the dots yet, in a way, some things were starting to make sense now that he knew Ross’s obsession with Serena was what had forced John to hide her all those years ago. It was irony of the worst sort because John hadn’t known Ross was the culprit, and instead had brought him into the fold.
John had mentioned a long time ago how Ross had all but bullied him to be hired. John had admired Ross’s self-confidence, and was flattered that such an intelligent, accomplished man insisted on working for him. The part that Zack didn’t understand was why Ross had pressed on with his diabolical scheme after John’s death.
And why the hell did he wait so long to unleash it in the first place?
What was the point? Who was supposed to suffer? Ann? Him?
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Ross obviously planned to destroy the business John had spent a lifetime building. The business that had grown to mean as much to Zack.
But even more important than the business…Ann. The one person John loved more than anyone.
And now Ross had Sloane. The one person Zack—
In that moment he felt her. Sloane!
Or rather, her departure. Like a ripping of his soul. Her essence. Leaving. Panic spurted through his veins. He yelled her name. Praying for her to live. To stay. She had to stay. No one like her. Even if he couldn’t have her. She had to live. The world needed her.
He pressed the pedal to the floorboards and laid on the horn before every intersection to forewarn pedestrians. Eight blocks from Samuel’s, blaring sirens edged into his consciousness. He looked at the rearview mirror to see patrol car lights flashing. Another squad car was oncoming from the left.
He prayed through red lights.
Prayed.
The rubber of his tires flying ahead of the sirens.
Prayed.
For the chance to save Sloane.
To kill Ross.
The flames of Hell would have to wait.
…
Sloane was floating through a dim tunnel. Light. Yes, there was a murky glow far ahead. If she could just—
A sharp thorn of pain brought her back. Her eyes snapped open to a blurry gray. She blinked repeatedly, struggling against the urge to sleep, somehow knowing she shouldn’t. After a moment her eyes finally focused to see a small black spider crawling sideways on a rough concrete wall. She gasped and bumped into something behind her.
“Don’t move.”
A woman? All at once, Sloane remembered.
Morgan. Ross.
Ann!
She must have passed out. Oh wait, she’d been drugged. How much time had gone by? Panic warred with the nauseating pain in her elbow and the disorientation of the drug still circulating in her system.
“I said, don’t move.”
Have to get away. Couldn’t do it if she was freaking out or vomiting. Lord, though, what was that smell? Like opening a Tupperware container filled with raw hamburger that had been left in the sun for a week. She gagged, and Morga
n chuckled quietly.
There was a brief tearing noise, and she felt warm fingers a few inches below her wrists. Her eyes reopened. The spider wasn’t really crawling sideways. She was lying on her side on the floor of a dank and rancid room, her limbs so heavy it was as though her veins ran with lead instead of blood. She twisted her neck as far as she could to look behind her at the woman adding another layer of duct tape to her already well-secured wrists.
Morgan was attractive in an edgy way with her textured blond mop and pert nose. What was she to Zack? She’d blown Ross to bits, and she’d certainly had time to kill Sloane, too, but she hadn’t. Maybe there was still hope. “Please don’t do this. We need to get to Ann. It’s not too late. She’s at the mall, isn’t she? On top of one of the rides? We can save her. I’ll tell the police you were defending me.”
Another hunk of tape peeled from the roll, Morgan’s bow-shaped lips pursed, eyes squinting as she focused on wrapping the tape tightly around Sloane’s legs.
You’re lying here just letting her tie you up. Get up!
Her heart accelerated. She must outweigh the petite woman by at least thirty-five pounds. If she could catch her unaware, she might be able to overpower her.
She scanned the wall and floor as far as her prone position allowed. Even a sharp fragment of concrete could do some damage. When she looked up, the single exposed light bulb illuminated pockmarks on the rough concrete wall and ceiling.
Concrete ceiling?
She forced herself to look at Morgan again and saw a pair of scissors next to her knee.
“How’d you get me down here?”
Morgan didn’t respond, continuing to wrap layer after layer down her legs.
“Where am I?” This time she didn’t even expect an answer. I’m a mummy in a concrete coffin. This can’t be happening. “Zack wouldn’t want you to—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what Zack wants!” Morgan scooted up to glare at her, the sudden fury in her eyes making Sloane’s stomach turn over. “No one knows him like I do!”
“You made a deal with Ross, didn’t you?” Sloane’s mind spun with possibilities. “With Ann out of the way, you get Zack all to yourself. That’s it, isn’t it? But you’re wrong, you know. He doesn’t love her like—”
Morgan slapped a length of tape across Sloane’s mouth. “He’s been burned so many ways by so many people, and now it’s my turn to punish the haters. I’ll make sure he’s never hurt again.” Morgan whipped her head to the side as though addressing someone else in the room. “Stop crying! Stop it!”
Now.
Sloane rolled onto her back and thrust her legs out in an explosive rush. The blow came sideways at Morgan’s shoulders, her head whiplashing, then bouncing against the concrete wall. She brought her hand toward her temple, but before she could recover, Sloane jabbed her with her bound legs again. This time a direct hit to the side of the head.
Morgan collapsed to her side, her mouth slack.
Sloane lay silently for a moment, shaking, wanting to scream but couldn’t for the tape. She scrunched her eyes for a second to gather her wits. The scissors. She needed to use the scissors.
A whimper behind her.
She scooted her body around, trying to avoid jarring her injured elbow. But the pain faded away as a new horror revealed itself in the shadows some fifteen feet away.
Oh. My. God.
Two children. Glassy-eyed. Pale-faced. The younger boy curled as closely around his sister as their gray bondage would allow.
The O’Neill kids.
Still alive! Thank you, Lord. Help me keep them that way.
She pushed her bound hands into the floor for leverage until she was sitting upright. She waited for the lightheadedness to pass, then scooted toward them until they recoiled, their muffled screams making her want to die. She looked at the ground helplessly, and then saw what had been making her gag.
A darkened pool of what looked like blood clots on a once gauzy, white skirt. A one-of-a-kind skirt with rosettes embroidered around the border.
Purchased at Skinny Dipping.
By Ann.
Sloane scrambled away from the mess of Ann’s skirt, her breath coming fast. Oh, sweet Jesus, had she lost the baby in this Godforsaken hole? No time to think about the horror.
Have to get the kids out. If what Ross said was true and he wanted her dead, too, there must be a bomb around here somewhere. Sloane turned back toward the scissors when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. A second later, a gust of air pushed through the room. Morgan stood framed in the doorway, her eyes glowing. “I don’t hold that kick against you, Amazon. Woulda done it myself. I like girls who know how to take care of themselves.” She frowned at the O’Neills. “Stupid Ross, getting kids involved. But then, that wasn’t his only mistake. He was going to renege on his promise to help me. I just know it.” Then her eyes met Sloane’s once more, and she smiled. “But that’s lucky for you, I guess. You would’ve suffered worse at his hands. Don’t worry about Zack. I’ll take good care of him.”
Sloane threw herself at the door, screaming behind the tape. But it was too late. The light flicked off a heartbeat before the door slammed shut in her face.
Chapter Thirty-one
Zack’s boots hit the pavement before the cops screeched into the Samuel’s Construction parking lot. He flew out the door and jerked on the glass back door. Locked. He spun around to look for something to smash the door in.
“Stop! Put your hands up.” Three cruisers lined up, car doors shielding the officers with their Glocks aimed at his torso. A wild current raced through him. Run! His hands clenched. A large cargo truck roared up behind the squad cars. Men in camouflage poured out.
SWAT.
Zack’s legs itched. There was enough firepower aimed on him to guarantee a closed casket.He wanted to squirm. He looked down. A piece of rebar was only inches from his right boot.
No more running.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sloane Swift is being held hostage inside by Ross Julik. I’m going in!”
He thought he heard a man yell, but the rebar connected with the glass, fragmenting the Samuel’s Construction logo into a thousand blue and green shards. He crouched between the glass and took the back stairs three at a time.
“Sloane! Sloane!” He rounded the corner on the top floor and bumped into Morgan as she was stepping off the elevator. His fingers bit into the skin of her upper arms, and her eyes grew round.
“Jesus, Morgan! What the hell are you doing here, and what happened to you?”
When she looked over his shoulder and started to cry, he was floored. He’d only seen her cry once before. Not the time he’d found her in an alleyway, battered and raped. And not when she’d been slashed by an ex-boyfriend. But rather, the night he’d been beaten senseless by Kasey’s thugs.
He loosened his hold and brushed the hair from her swelling forehead. “Take it easy. Have you seen Sloane or Ross?”
She plowed into him, wrapping her arms around him in a death grip. He wanted to shake the information out of her, but his head was growing foggy. He squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus, but Morgan’s face swam before him. He could see her lips moving, but he couldn’t quite understand her. What was happening? He tasted blood on his tongue. Then he heard it.
Zack!
A river of ice poured through him. Sloane?
Help me!
A sensation of damp, cool air drifted through his mind. Where are you? He held his breath, listening for her, but heard only his own heartbeat. His vision cleared, and he looked down to see Morgan’s face plastered to his chest. He leaned away from her, his fingers shaking on her arms. “Right now, Morgan. Tell me where they are.”
She lifted her tear-streaked face, then leaned to the side and pointed behind him. Zack twisted around and nearly staggered to see what was left of his CFO. He tore away from Morgan and hunkered down beside Ross. He thought he’d feel sadness and regret, but there was only u
rgency. He looked back at Morgan. “Where’s the gun?”
“I…threw it in the dumpster. Outside.”
That must have been where she was coming from when he ran into her. “Where’s Sloane?”
“He was going to kill her, and I couldn’t let him! You know how I feel about men assaulting women.”
“Where the fuck is she?”
She backed up slightly. “He…uh, he’d…someone else took her. To hide her. For Ross. She was so scared, Zack! She hasn’t had the experiences we have—”
Bad experiences.
All of a sudden, he knew. Cold and damp.
Hell, yeah, he knew. The tunnel.
Abruptly, he pressed Morgan against the wall, a hand covering her mouth. He shushed her silently while he listened. There it was again.
A slight shifting of leather.
Someone was in the stairwell.
He motioned for her to hurry with him down the hall, past Ross’s lifeless body, into John’s office. Inside, he shut the door soundlessly, grabbed a flashlight from the desk, then led her to the bookshelf.
“Aren’t we going to—”
Again, he shushed her, and felt with his hands along the paneling until the bookshelf slid away to reveal a small, secret elevator. He’d never used it. Had never been able to make himself, though John had told him it’d be good to know where it let out in the tunnel.
Just in case.
He used to laugh at many of John’s just-in-cases. Pretty damn unwise.
When he joined Morgan inside, he had to put his arms up to make room for both of them to fit. He waited for a stir of panic in the cramped space, but it didn’t come. The door closed, the light dimmed, and she leaned against him.
SWAT officers had to be spreading through the building like a marauding virus by now. He ignored the blinking elevator light. Hold on, Goldie.
“Who was working with Ross? Who took Sloane just now?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Colette O’Neill.”
“What?”
“I swear it’s true. Once Ross learned of Dallan’s involvement with Ann, he blackmailed Colette into helping him. He told her he’d help fix her problem, but after she took Ann to his house, she refused to help him anymore. Until he took her kids, the evil bastard.”
