Breaking Boundaries (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 5)

by Teresa Reasor

  Kathleen eyed the Taser. It had jolted both her body and mind and made it impossible for her to move. She didn’t want any part of it again. How many times could someone be shocked before it affected their heart? Moving slowly, she sat up and pushed the seat back, closing the opening to the trunk. She watched Hillary’s actions carefully as she slid out of the car. The moment the woman started toward her, Kathleen backed away.

  “Get inside the house.”

  “No. Not until you tell me what you want and why I’m here.”

  Hillary rushed toward her with the Taser. Kathleen gripped the woman’s wrist and twisted and shoved back against her, forcing Hillary to backpedal until they came up against the car. Hillary cried out in pain.

  They struggled. Kathleen head-butted her on the nose. Hillary yelped and swore. The Taser crackled between them when Hillary depressed the trigger. Kathleen shoved down on the barrel of the weapon, trying to break her grip. Hillary inched the weapon closer to Kathleen’s body, then shoved the weapon into her thigh.

  Kathleen squealed and dropped to her knees as the electricity arched through her body for what seemed like an eternity while Hillary shocked her again and again with the weapon. Kathleen tasted blood where she’d bitten her tongue. She lay on the stained concrete behind the car unable to move, her muscles quivering like Jell-O.

  “I told you I didn’t want to have to hurt you again,” Hillary said. “This was your fault.”

  If someone could do that again and again to another human being, killing them with one shot or one blow would be nothing.

  Hillary was going to kill her before this was over.

  *

  Two hours in the close, claustrophobic room telling the same story over and over. Jesus Christ! What was wrong with these assholes? Cal had been as patient as he could force himself to be, but he had reached the end of it.

  “Have you put out some kind of BOLO for Kathleen?”

  “Yes, we have.” Buckler answered. But he offered the information grudgingly. The two detectives, Buckler and Hart, had taken the place of the two police officers on the scene and had wasted no time in escorting him to the station and this interview room. Two hours had passed with no end in sight. “I’m done. I’m leaving. If you guys aren’t going to get out there and look for her, I will.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Crowes.” Detective rose from his seat.

  “No.” He fisted his hands, but curbed the need to punch something. “You either charge me with a crime or you cut me loose. I’ve given you my DNA, and my fingerprints, and I’ve told the same story ten different ways. I don’t know what else you want. And I don’t give a fuck if you believe me or not. I’m done. You charge me, or you let me go. And if you’re charging me with something, I’m asking for a lawyer and I’ll take my phone call now.”

  He whipped out his phone.

  The two looked at each other. Detective Buckler sat back down. “I’ll tell you what’s holding us up. We believe that what happened to you last night is tied to this in some way. But we feel you haven’t been completely forthcoming with everything you could tell us about it.”

  “You’re still trying to imply that I had something to do with the theft of the welder, but I didn’t. And why the fuck is that important when my girlfriend is missing. Isn’t she the priority here? She’s been missing for five hours.”

  “Just tell us how the welder got in your truck.”

  “How many times do I have to say it? Look through the paperwork. There has to be a paper trail for who loaded it and took it off-site. There was no theft. I think someone planted it in my truck, then called to report it stolen, hoping I’d be arrested for taking it. And because I was gone all day, the police never had a chance to pick me up. I didn’t steal anything. Tom and I were trying to return it when we were attacked.

  Cal straightened, glaring at the officers. “And I’ve already told you who I think might have been behind it. I’ve even told you everything Paul Warren said while sitting in my living room this morning. Have you picked him up?”

  When they both remained silent, Cal shook his head. “You can’t find him, can you?”

  Hart ignored that and asked, “Where do you think you’ll be able to find Kathleen?”

  “I don’t know. But I have someone in the media who owes me a favor, and she’s the first person I’m going to for help getting Kathleen’s picture out there. Someone had to have seen something. Someone knows where she is. And if I have to go door-to-door over the whole fucking state, I’m going to find her. Forget about all this fucking bullshit and do your fucking jobs.”

  Cal strode to the door and opened it. An armed police officer stood outside, blocking his exit. Cal shot a look over his shoulder at Buckler and Hart.

  Hart’s features twisted with disgust and frustration. “Let him go.”

  Cal rushed down the hall and into the main office of the Robbery-Homicide Division. They must have brought him to robbery because of the welder.

  He hit the sidewalk outside like Buckler and Hart were in armed pursuit and paused to find the number to call a cab to take him back to Zach’s house and his vehicle. A horn blew and caught his attention. Doc pulled up beside him in his SUV. “What the fuck took you so long?” he asked as soon as Cal opened the door.

  “Tweedledee and Tweedledum were trying to pin the same bullshit on me as the cops last night. They’re worrying about a welder instead of Kathleen. Goddamnit! They have fucking tunnel vision. And they can’t find Paul Warren. They don’t have a clue where he might be.”

  “And you do?”

  “His sister lived in San Marcos. He was all broken up about his nephew Mitchell. And his sister committed suicide after Mitch was killed. How much you want to bet he still owns the house?”

  Chapter 24

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  Kathleen focused on small things, small moments of time, to quell the constant fear. She decided out of all the things that hurt, her tongue bothered her the most. But it gave her a reason to remain silent and listen to Hillary’s whispered phone conversation in the kitchen.

  She might as well. With her hands and feet tied to a straight-backed chair in the middle of the living room, she had little else to do. She’d worn herself out trying to loosen the cotton clothesline Hillary used to bind her. Her wrists were raw from fighting it.

  She analyzed the seventies décor, which leaned toward straight-lined furniture and stained shag carpet. The worst was right at her feet. It looked as though someone had dropped something there and scrubbed it until the nap was compressed. Where were the owners? Whose house was this?

  And who had put Hillary up to this? She couldn’t imagine the woman had gotten up one day and decided to kidnap someone she’d only known a few weeks.

  “I know I messed up, but I’m trying to make up for it. No one will ever know you had anything to do with this.”

  So there was someone who’d put her up to this.

  “He’ll regret ever having hurt you. And he’ll live the rest of his days knowing what it means to be responsible.”

  Who was she talking about? Cal? And what was he responsible for? And why was Hillary taking such a risk doing someone else’s dirty work?

  Hillary’s voice dropped to just shy of a whisper. The first part of what she said Kathleen missed, but she did hear, “Last night meant so much to me. I love you, I’ve loved you since the first time we kissed. Last night proves you feel something too.”

  The only man Hillary had a thing for was Paul Warren. So Warren had to be involved.

  “I’m going to take her to the place it first started between them. Don’t you think that will be fitting?” There was a pause and Hillary said, “I knew you’d understand.”

  Hillary limped back into the living room. She had an injury, and the limp was getting worse. “It’s time for us to go.”

  “Go where, Hillary?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.” She unfastened Kathleen’s feet, but left her hands tied behind her. She reach
ed down the back of the chair, grabbed the clothesline binding her arms and jerked Kathleen to her feet, guiding her from behind toward the door leading into the garage.

  “What have you done to your hip?”

  “Your boyfriend hit me with a pipe last night.”

  Kathleen’s mouth went dry. “It was you who attacked him and Tom Hill on the site?”

  Hillary ignored the question.

  Numb with shock, Kathleen didn’t even try to argue when she opened the trunk, shoved her in, and closed the lid. She felt safer in the compartment than inside the car with a woman capable of attempted murder.

  Hillary said she was going to take her where it all began. She and Cal had first met on the building site for the tower. A dropping sensation hit her stomach. Oh God, what did she intend to do?

  *

  While Zach drove, Cal called the television station and asked to speak to Nora Harper. He’d been such an asshole to her, he didn’t know if she’d take his call, but it was worth a shot.

  “Hello Mr. Crowes. How did you like your segment?”

  “I didn’t watch it.”

  Stunned silence filled the air between them.

  “I have some breaking news, and I thought with your ambition you’d want to jump all over it.”

  “What is it?” Doubt tinged her tone.

  “As of noon this afternoon my girlfriend Kathleen O’Connor was abducted from her home. She’s been missing for five hours. I’m sending you her picture.”

  “How do you know she was abducted?”

  “She had an appointment with a leasing agent at one. She never showed up. When I went to her apartment to check on her at two, and her purse, phone and car were there, but she wasn’t, and there were signs of a struggle in the living room and blood on the carpet. The police have put out a BOLO on her, but nothing else.”

  He took a risk. “Now we both know what you did with the interview, how you manipulated it to get a rise in ratings, and to possibly pay me back a little for my bad attitude. This is your chance to do something truly helpful. Put Kathleen’s picture out there, ask people to call San Diego Robbery-Homicide and ask for Detectives Buckler and Hart.”

  “Why Robbery-Homicide?”

  “Beats the fuck out of me. That’s who showed up when I dialed nine-one-one. Kathleen is alive. I’m going to find her with or without their help. You can call them and verify everything I’ve said.”

  “Okay. I will. And you can send a picture to my private phone number.”

  “Pen?” Cal asked.

  “Glove box.” Zach answered and whipped onto the I-15 North so fast Cal fell against the door. The man drove like he’d hit the last lap in the Indianapolis Five Hundred and was in the lead.

  Cal wrote the number on his hand.

  “And one other thing. Tell your viewers to quit calling me. If whoever has Kathleen is trying to get through, I’ll miss the call because of their bullshit.”

  She fell silent again. “I’ll tell them.”

  Was that a hint of regret he heard in her tone? “I appreciate your help, Miss Harper.”

  “We’ll have this on the air as soon as you send the picture and I get confirmation from the police.”

  “Thanks.”

  When she said, “Good luck.” It sounded like she meant it.

  He rushed through the pictures he’d taken of Kathleen at Balboa Park on Saturday. Just looking at her smile, the way she’d mugged for the camera, caused a fresh wave of fear to crash over him to steal his breath, then cramp his stomach. He found a clear portrait of her he’d taken under the shade of one of the trees. She looked vibrant and beautiful, with her creamy skin and bright green eyes. He sent it to the number Harpy had given him.

  “We’re going to find her. She’s going to be fine,” Zach said from beside him. “She’s tough. She’s resourceful. She survived eight brothers, and can beat some of us at arm wrestling.

  Cal wondered if he was trying to reassure him or himself.

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t working.

  *

  Kathleen woke, startled and afraid, surrounded by the same darkness in which she’d fallen asleep. She’d been thinking of her family for hours, dreaming about them. How she’d slept at all was inexplicable. The confined space of the trunk left her little room to move, and her knees felt stiff and achy when she tried to straighten her legs.

  The maneuver used by heroines in mystery novels, sliding their arms down the back of their body to get their hands in front was a lie perpetrated by writers. She tried, and it didn’t work. Her arms were too short, her hips too wide. Or it could be her wrists were tied together too tightly. She’d moved her hands to keep the circulation going so often her wrists were raw from rope burns.

  God, she was so thirsty. The two bottles of water she’d consumed all day only left her craving more. Her lips burned and were chapped and cracking with dehydration.

  The silence in the cab of the car as well as the cooler temperatures inside the trunk slowly captured her attention. They were parked somewhere. Somewhere it was less bright and the temperature was actually bearable. Another garage, a parking garage, maybe.

  She had to find a way out of this car and away from Hillary. She turned and wiggled until her back was where the locking mechanism might be. It took her several minutes and more rug burns on her elbow and her cheek to find it. Sometimes they had releases for just this instance. Blindly she searched around the lock and found—nothing. She could feel the lock but nothing around it suggested it would release.

  She turned onto her knees and wiggled around in an attempted to raise her hands above her to find the loops dangling from above. She got rug burn on her forehead from carpet inside the trunk from scooting back and forth, feeling for the nylon strips. They had to be right there. Her fingers touched something and she gripped it and pulled. The seat released, and she saw a crack of dim light around the edge of the hard plastic seat backing. She pushed it forward.

  The car was empty. Kathleen rushed to grab the other nylon handle. She wiggled over the hard seat back.

  She didn’t stop to check the door to see the childproof locks were still engaged, but turned on her side and wiggled and squirmed her way over the console between the front seats to the passenger door. Knowing Hillary might return at any moment spurred her on. Turning her back to the door, she strained every muscle to raise her hands high enough to hit the buttons on the door until the locks disengaged. The door release was higher up still. She shoved up onto her knees and her fingers scrambled over the surface looking for it. Oh my God, where the hell was it?

  The driver’s door opened and Hillary got in. “Are you going somewhere, Kathleen?”

  Defeat fell like a heavy bolder, crushing her every hope. Pain in every part of her body began to clamor. She had to have her hands free.

  Letting her desperation show, she said, “I need to pee.”

  *

  Cal used his phone to find the address for Darleen Ellison. It was while he was doing that he noticed the text messages and voice mails had stopped. Harpy had come through.

  Zach pulled in and parked one house up from the address. He and Zach observed the place for a few minutes for any activity. Other than a dull glow coming from the front window, nothing moved.

  “I’ll take the front, you take the back,” Zach, said reaching up to turn off the cab light. “I’ll knock and get their attention at the front door while you get in at the back.”

  Neither of them had a weapon. Zach had left his behind in his weapons locker on post. Their hands would have to be enough.

  Halfway to the house, Zach motioned for him to break off. Cal followed the shade of the trees along the property line to the side yard. Zach continued on to the front of the house. Cal watched him long enough to see him saunter up the front walk as though he owned the place.

  Cal double-timed it around to the backyard. He crowded in on the narrow stoop in front of a set of French doors leading out onto a patio. Th
e kitchen was dark. The dull light of a back porch light next door touched on the metallic shape of a toaster, the face of the microwave. Cal narrowed his eyes to reduce the ambient glow and tried to look at shapes inside the darkness. A leg and foot took form.

  He tapped on one of the windowpanes. Nothing. No movement. Oh God, had they come this far to find her dead in a strange house? His lungs seized and panicked desperation gripped him. He grabbed the doorknob and heaved against the door with his sore shoulder, and grunting at the pain. The flimsy lock gave way, and he stumbled into the kitchen and hit the light switch next to the door.

  Paul Warren was leaning against the cabinets, his chin on his chest. A pool of congealed blood surrounded him, and a knife protruded from his chest.

  *

  Kathleen could barely keep her eyes open despite the fact that her heart beat like a metronome stuck on a fast tempo. She’d read somewhere that repeated shocks from a stun gun lowered blood sugar because it fired all the muscles and burned up reserves. Having had nothing to eat all day but half a bagel, she was feeling the effects. A clammy sweat beaded her skin, while a jittery nervousness made it hard for her to think or get a full breath. At least Hillary had untied her hands.

  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind Hillary intended to kill her. And she had questions. Questions she wanted answered before she had to face… “Did you delete my file that first week, Hillary?” she asked.

  “No. I would never touch your work. But Paul thought it would be funny.”

  So Hillary had known who did it and where they were the whole time. What kind of relationship did she and Warren have?”

  “I did puncture your tires. He was much too interested in you, and I hoped to scare you off.”

  Jesus! They were both certifiable.

  “Did you send me an email trying to warn me away from Cal?”

  “No.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of email?”

  Shit! She needed to get away from this subject. If she knew Warren had sent her an email she might get jealous again and go off. “Why are you doing this, Hillary? What have I done to you that I deserve to be hurt?”