Andi—in Crescent Park, painting. Andi—walking on Royal Street, with her attention focused on Gabe. Andi—in Armstrong Park, with Black Raven agents within ten feet of her, talking to Richie. Andi—sitting on a park bench with Pic. Andi—a pre-kidnapping image of her with long hair, smiling coyly at someone who wasn’t caught in the image. Andi and Sonja—a side view, mouth on mouth kissing.
“I can’t get in,” Stevens said. “I’ve got some computer forensics experience, but nothing’s working with this.”
Blood boiling as he stared at the images, Gabe drew a deep breath. “Ragno. Have someone guide Stevens.”
“Gabe,” Zeus said. “Get in the van. Sending you to rendezvous with Ace.”
Hope soared at his brother’s words. Needing no encouragement, Gabe ran down the two flights of stairs. “Location?”
“Not yet. But soon. Brandon’s gone semi-private. I’m listening, sparing the details over the lines. Serum, coupled with Trask-style persuasion, has Juliette cracking. Talking about a horse farm. North shore of Lake Pontchartrain.”
“I’m in.” Gabe lifted the keys from the floorboard, started the engines, and backed out of the driveway. “Where to?”
“Take Saint Charles to the River Road. To Deckbar, which is right past Ochsner Hospital. Chopper will pick you up on the levee. Traffic indicators indicate it’s an eight-minute drive, max. You’ll be driving in the opposite direction of the parade route.”
Thank God. “I’ll make it less.”
“Gabe,” Ace said. “Chopper landing in five. We’ll do touch and go. Get your ass in gear.”
“Copy.”
Three minutes of driving, which included a short jaunt on the street car tracks that separated the two lanes of vehicular traffic and running a red light, got him to the River Road. “Zeus. Anything more?”
“Not yet. I’m confirming Juliette’s details through facial recognition software along the route. Ragno’s team, once into the Long’s computers, will know a hell of a lot more. We’ll have a precise location with intel. Soon. According to what Juliette’s saying, this is big. Details she’s giving potentially tie in with missing kids. Copy?”
“Copy.”
Turning right on the River Road, his gaze on joggers, bikers, and dog walkers who were using the grassy levee at the foot of Saint Charles as a park, Gabe understood why Zeus’s directions were sending him further upriver. The crowd dwindled as Gabe accelerated, leaving Saint Charles Avenue in his rear view. “Pic?”
“Nothing so specific yet. But from what Juliette’s saying, it’s a sophisticated trafficking ring, where people are sold into sex slavery—” He paused. “—and possibly worse. We’re relocating Richie to Andi’s townhouse for more in-depth interrogation by Brandon. Serum’s already administered. Where are you?”
“On River Road. Ochsner Hospital is ahead of me. I see it.” Glancing into the sky, Gabe saw a Chinook-47F drifting down, twin rotors spinning. He ditched the van on the side of the levee. Running up the sharply inclined slope, he ducked as the chopper landed, then ran forward. As he jumped through the open door, he yelled, “Go!”
Chapter Forty Six
Andi
Through deep, luscious sleep, a kind she didn’t often have, Andi felt the delicious, wet heat of suction on her right nipple. Too woozy to open her eyes, waves of contentment washed over her body.
Gabe. Yes. Best dream ever.
As he opened his mouth to take in more of her, tonguing the hardened nub, and gently gliding the sheet off of her nude body, she turned slightly towards his side of the bed. His warm body wasn’t next to her, though. No one was.
Breathing in deeply, sinking further into a soft sea of fine linens and dreamy contentment, the scent that she inhaled—a lush blend of vanilla, jasmine, and rose—was wrong.
Gabe doesn’t smell like flowers.
The mouth moved away. Maybe she’d dreamed it. A susurrus of conversation teased the edges of her consciousness, but she couldn’t make out the words. Confusion registered, but she was too sleepy to care, until smidges of her deep, delicious sleep flittered away. With increased awareness came a metronome beat of doom. Like the very beginning of a night terror, where she was too paralyzed to do anything about the coming horrors, it occurred to her that something was wrong. Her senses were so dulled by drugs that the thought inspired only a low-level curiosity.
Fingers replaced the mouth. Tweaking. Teasing. A lover’s good morning touch. Waves of consciousness lapped at the shores of her sleep, bringing hard to grasp knowledge. As fast as the froth of a wave dissipated into the sand, the knowledge for which she was fighting slipped from her grasp. But with the next wave, more awareness swam to the surface. Wave after wave built, as she remembered that for some indeterminate amount of time, she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness.
Suddenly, thoughts that she’d been struggling to hold onto, on and off, for God only knew how long, flooded through her consciousness.
This isn’t Gabe!
Fear flooded through her veins, pebbling her skin, while yanking her nerves into a taut bow. Instinctively wanting to jerk her body out of reach, she froze instead. Instead of shrinking away in revulsion, she forced her body to go slack.
Whomever had her was standing at her bedside, talking. God, she wanted to open her eyes to orient herself. But she needed to establish the ‘who’ and the ‘where’, because the moment she awakened, it would be a game changer.
Be still! Play possum. Gather facts. Formulate a plan.
With every ounce of willpower she could muster, she forced herself to turn towards whomever the hell was now cupping her breast in their hand as they tweaked her nipple. Moving as though she’d just shifted position, Andi nestled further into the comfortable bed, as though what they were doing didn’t repulse her.
With her change in position, her adrenaline rush faded as quickly as it came, as the drugs once again took over. Heart, brain, thoughts, and emotions dulled by remnants of whatever the hell Juliette had given her, Andi struggled to stay awake and focus on what she knew.
Two of them? They were now—and for some indeterminate chunk of time had been—standing next to her bed, talking. The hand disappeared. A female voice. A male voice. They were talking louder now. Almost yelling. She sounded angry. He was trying to placate her.
Not a dream. Not a night terror. Not one of her PTSD-induced daymares. This was reality. Her worst Victor Morrissey-inspired fear come to life.
Eyes closed. Eyes closed. Be smart. Assess. Gather information. You’ve been through far worse. So far.
“She’s not waking up, goddammit,” the female said. “You do understand that if you fucked this up, I will kill you?”
Not easy, staying limp and still as a fresh wave of adrenaline-driven energy coursed through her. She tried to place the voices. Both were familiar, but out of context. Which was such a stupid thought, she almost laughed.
How could any of this possibly be in context?
“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Tone strident, the female’s manner of speaking suggested no one ever dared.
“Hard to do when you’re screaming like a goddamn banshee!” the male said. “Everything is proceeding on schedule. The drugs are competing, but the anesthetic properties are wearing off.”
The male voice was also familiar. Genteel. Deep. Calming, or trying to be. But he had the terse snap of a man who was losing patience. Andi felt fingers on her neck. At her carotid, gently pressing her pulse.
She knew with certainty that she should recognize the voices, but no names came to her. She drifted to sleep for a moment, then jolted awake. Almost opened her eyes, until she remembered she was trying to gather information while not letting them know that she was awake.
Stay awake. Assess. Gather information. Stay AWAKE.
Mind slightly clearer than before, taking an inventory of all the facts she knew, she remembered Juliette, injecting her neck. Juliette, calling someone, then dialing 9-1-1. It had been the wrong
actions from someone she trusted, and the phone calls had been in the wrong order. The first never should have happened. Then her muscles and limbs had become limp, then locked.
As her mind had started drifting away, she had tried to tell Brandon about the wrongness, but by then, she couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. She remembered Brandon, alarmed. Yelling. A mouth, on hers. Someone helping her breathe. She remembered Brandon, saying Gabe’s name. Telling Gabe what was happening. Her final thought had been that Gabe was coming. She’d be okay. Brandon has me, and Gabe is coming. And then she’d blacked out.
Gabe didn’t make it in time. He’s still coming, though. But God knows what they’ll do to me before he gets here. So I’ve got to get myself out of here. Think about the voices. Think, think, think. Gabe’s voice, drilled into her in their exercise sessions, reminded her what to do.
Assess. Think. When you have enough knowledge to formulate a plan, go on the offensive. Once you move, do not hesitate.
She wasn’t thinking clearly, though, because there was still too much sedative in her system. As her mind drifted, she tried to focus on the heavy fragrance that enveloped her. Sensual. Female.
I know that fragrance. I know who wears it.
Sleepiness intruded. Powerless to do anything but give in, she knew that when she woke again, she would need all her senses. Because those voices belonged to people who weren’t going to lay a goddamn hand on her. If Victor Morrissey had taught her anything, it was that she’d die fighting before someone had his, or her, way with her. As her mind shut down, she inhaled. And knew the name of the scent. Shalimar. Heavy. Sensual. Retro. Intoxicating.
Don’t sleep. Think!
“Sonofagoddamnfucking bitch,” the female said, tone low. Threatening. Angry. “I want her awake, and I want her awake right now.”
She heard the petulant tone at the end of the sentence, heard the inflection in the words, I want, and knew, with certainty, who had her.
Sonja Long! Why?
“You’re doing this to torment me,” Sonja said, her tone drifting lower. “It never takes this long.”
Holy hell! She does this often?
“Now, now, dear, you know I had to make sure the departure scenario was convincing.”
That voice belonged to Walter. Answering to his wife.
What the hell?
“The sedation drugs I gave her were stronger than what we normally use, because Andi’s not a no-name homeless person that we pulled off the streets. This was a riskier extraction. Give the reversal agents a few more minutes.”
The gentle hand disappeared. In its place, Andi felt a firm press of fingers on her neck. She could smell someone’s sweet breath, felt the warmth of their exhale, and felt strong hands on either side of her face.
Eyes closed. Eyes closed. Figure out how bad this is.
“If the Ritalin’s working, why the hell isn’t she awake?”
“She will be,” Walter said. “And it wasn’t just Ritalin. I had to do a mixture. Soon.”
“But she’s not even close. I didn’t go through this trouble for you to turn her into a goddamn corpse. You’re the one who likes to fuck dead people. Not me. And I certainly hope you got your fill last night, because my real Andi is going to be mine for a long time.”
“Now Sonja, we’ve been through this. You won’t be able to keep her as your plaything. We agreed you would only have today. We have to get rid of her. It’s too dangerous. We’ll have to dispose of her bod—”
“On what planet do you think you’re standing? Certainly not one where you get to tell me what to do. I can, and I will, keep her for as long as I goddamn want to,” Sonja said. “When are you going to learn that I get what I goddamn want? Or else I leave you. Are you not understanding that your value lies in giving me what the hell I want! As I want it. Now give her another injection and wake her up!”
“Another injection right now would be too much. For once in your life, Sonja, would you please have patience and—”
The sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded loud, reverberating in Andi’s head. It instilled fear that made her toes curl and goosebumps rise on the back of her neck.
“Patience? I’ve waited two and a half goddamn years for this moment. And I’ve had enough of your disrespect.” Sonja’s voice dropped to a low, threatening growl. “Bow your head. Apologize. Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?”
“Of course not,” he said, with a shift in his tone. Sounding more subservient than angry, he continued, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, my love. She’ll be awake within the next fifteen minutes. Groggy, but awake. It will take her longer to become fully alert. More of the reversal agent right now wouldn’t be good for her. You want her functional, don’t you?”
There was a long pause.
“Leave me alone with her—”
“But you said I could watch.”
“And I changed my mind. You’ll have your turn with her when I’m done. And don’t hold your breath, hoping I’ll agree to kill her tonight so that it’ll be your turn.”
“But—”
“Stop sniveling. Go in the barn and find some work to do.”
“We should restrain her, especially if I’m leaving you alone with her. When she awakens, she’ll put up a fight.”
“No, she won’t. She knows me, Walter. She loves me. Go.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you think she’ll be happy to be here—”
“Godammit, but would you stop throwing roadblocks my way. I can handle whatever resistance she might have in her. Don’t you understand I want her to be her same old feisty self? She’s different now. Go. Occupy yourself for a few hours, let me coax her into having fun like we did before, then come back and watch when the real show begins.”
I’ve landed in a freak show. He watches her with lovers?
That hadn’t happened before. At least, not to Andi’s knowledge. But more horrific than that, was the implicit assumption in their statements. They were going to kill her. Eventually. It was just a matter of when.
As Andi tried to comprehend the alternative universe into which she’d plummeted, she heard footsteps. Presumably Walter, following she-bitch’s instructions. A door opened. And shut.
I’ve got to do something while there’s only one of them in here.
As the thought materialized, she drifted asleep, and stayed that way. Until with a jolt, she awakened. She had no idea how long she’d been out. A fresh wave of Shalimar teased a memory, then parts of it came back to her. Slitting open her eyes, Andi took in vaguely familiar, opulent, elegant furnishings. Heavy mahogany. Cream silks. Tassels. Why did this place look familiar? Her sluggish brain tried to fit together what she was seeing to the scent of Shalimar.
Sonja!
Andi tried to breathe as though she was still asleep. Through the tiniest sliver of an opening in her eyelids, she saw Sonja, wearing sleek black pants and a fitted top, move silently about the room, lighting tapered candles at a round coffee table that was nestled between two easy chairs and a tufted couch.
It all came back to Andi with a rush. Juliette. Sonja. Walter. Through the narrowest of a gaze, Andi thought she recognized where she was. Sonja’s bedroom at the Long’s Saint Charles Avenue mansion. But the proportions seemed off. While the room appeared larger, the same glittering chandelier hung over the elegant sitting area that was snugged up to the fireplace. Beyond the fireplace, there were large bay windows, hung with cream silk drapes. She didn’t remember bay windows in Sonja’s bedroom, the last time she was there. The fireplace was lit. Lights were dimmed, but on. Drapes were drawn. Impossible to tell time of day. Or night. Drifting into the fog again, Andi tried to swim to the surface, knowing she needed to do someth….
Damn. She’d passed out again. For how long this time?
No clue.
Shalimar. Sonja…Come on Andi, focus for your life here.
Slitting her eyes again, she saw Sonja lighting more candles, these atop thick silver candles
ticks at an end table. Sonja liked elegant tapers, in varying lengths and thicknesses. She liked to play with the tapers, as flames flickered on the wick. Liked to run her fingers through the hot dripping wax. Sonja had told her that she special ordered dripping tapers, made of natural, organic beeswax. When Sonja had sex, she liked to take warm wax and rub it on her skin. And her lover’s skin. And the tapers themselves became…toys. In ways that had nothing to do with lighting.
Acidic bile rose in the back of her throat and waves of nausea prickled Andi’s skin hot and cold as she remembered the times she’d been in Sonja’s bedroom. On the sofa. On the cowhide pelt rug in front of the fireplace.
Those damned candles.
Wait…those heavy, silver candlesticks that held the tapers…would be perfect weapons. As Andi focused on the array of tapers and candlesticks, the lights in the bedroom flickered. A soft chime sounded, like an old-fashioned doorbell. Sonja, who had been bending over the candles, with a matchstick in hand, froze.
Dropping the match on the silver tray, Sonja strode to the fireplace and pressed a button on the wall. “Marcus?”
“False alarm, Ms. Long.” A male voice carried over the room’s intercom system. “Zone 1C-4. French doors near the garden-room bay window, at the East wing.”
“I know where my goddamn garden room is. What caused the false alarm?”
Silence.
“Marcus? I asked you a question.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re investigating now. Wooded area around lake. I noticed aviary activity there earlier. Probably just a bird, flying into a window, be—”
“Probably? Are you serious? Find out with certainty. I’m not paying you to sit there scratching your balls.”
Wait. What? Something—or better, someone—had activated the security system? Andi’s heart leapt.
Gabe. He’s coming to kick your ass, that’s what’s happening, you bitch.
“Confirming now, ma’am.”
Concierge (Black Raven Book 3) Page 48
