by Marie Force
“Sure.” Scotty dashed off to tend to Laine O’Connor, one of his favorite new friends.
When Terry headed for Nick’s office, he followed him, closing the door. “What’s going on?”
“Christina called.”
“I thought she might be here. We invited her, right?”
Terry nodded and rubbed a hand over the late-day stubble on his jaw. “I...I wish I didn’t have to tell you...”
Nick’s entire body went cold with fear. “Tell me what?”
“Sam’s in some sort of trouble. Gonzo asked Christina to track you down. They believe Sam is being held hostage at the Springer home on MacArthur Boulevard.”
“They believe?” Somehow he was able to force the words out despite the fear that gripped him. “They don’t know?”
“Not for sure. Her car is parked out front, and no one has heard from her for quite some time. They haven’t yet tried to gain access to the house. Christina said Gonzo told her they’re still assessing the situation.”
When Nick pulled his personal cell phone from his suit coat pocket, his hands trembled as he checked to see when the most recent message from his wife had arrived. More than five hours ago. Five hours. Jesus.
“I need to go there.”
“The Secret Service will never allow you to go to a possibly active crime scene.”
At the words possibly active crime scene, Nick’s chest began to ache along with his stomach. “Will you get Brant in here, please?”
“Nick.”
“Do it, Terry. Please.”
Terry walked out the door, leaving Nick in a state of stunned disbelief. Was she already dead and no one wanted to tell him? No. If she were dead, he’d know it. He’d feel it.
Agent John Brantley Junior came into the room, closing the door behind him. “You asked to see me, sir.”
“My wife is involved in a situation at work. I need to go to her.”
“Where is she?”
“From what I’m told, it’s believed she’s being held hostage in a townhouse on MacArthur Boulevard.”
Brant was shaking his head from the word hostage forward. “I can’t take you there, sir.”
“Let me be clear—I’m going to her, and I don’t give a flying fuck if you come with me or not. But I am going. It’s up to you as to whether you’ll be joining me.”
The young agent with the close-cropped blond hair and the chiseled jaw stared at him with unblinking blue eyes. “My job is to protect you, sir. I can’t do that if you put yourself into dangerous situations.”
“My job is to protect her. I’m going.” Nick knew what Sam would have to say to him taking responsibility for her safety, but right then he didn’t care. He could only hope he’d get the chance to tell her he’d said it.
“Give me one minute to put something together.”
“Just you and me, one car, no motorcade. One minute. That’s all I’m giving you, and it’s sixty seconds longer than I want to give you.”
“Scotty?”
“Stays here with the O’Connors.”
With a brisk nod, Brant left the room.
Nick ran shaking hands through his hair, forcing air to his lungs. The thought of her in danger always made him crazy, but knowing for sure that she was in some sort of trouble made him tremble with fear. Nothing had ever scared him more than the possibility of losing her suddenly.
The door opened and Terry came in. “What did Brant say?”
“He’s working it out so the two of us can go.”
“I’m surprised he went for it.”
“He didn’t.”
Terry offered a small smile that he intended to be reassuring, but Nick could see the concern in his aide’s eyes. “I’m sure she’s fine, Nick. She’s always fine.”
“I wish I could be so sure. Do me a favor—keep Scotty here with your folks. I don’t want him to worry before we know what’s going on.”
“Of course. We’ll take care of him.”
“Thanks.” Nick stared at the door, willing it to open. “Make my excuses at the reception?”
“Yes, I will.”
“I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Nick bent at the waist, propped his hands on his knees and forced himself to breathe, knowing he wouldn’t be any good to Sam if he lost his composure. Somehow he also had to walk through a room full of people who’d be focused on him and leave his son without worrying him. Get it together, man.
Brant came back into the office. “Mr. Vice President? I’m ready for you, sir.”
Filled with dread and anxiety, Nick stood upright and forced himself to take a step forward and then another.
“Keep me posted,” Terry said.
Nick nodded as he walked past him into the room where the party was going on. He went to Scotty. “Hey, bud, I need to step out for a bit to take care of something. You’re going to stay here with the O’Connors, okay?”
“Where’re you going?”
“Something came up, but I’ll be back before you miss me.” God, he hoped that was true.
“Don’t worry about him,” Laine said, her hands on Scotty’s shoulders as she looked at Nick with concern. No doubt she was able to tell something was wrong with him. She was scary perceptive that way. “We’ll go home with him and his detail and make sure he gets his homework done.”
Scotty scowled at the dreaded word. “I thought we were friends.”
Laine laughed. “We are friends, and that’s why I want you to do your homework, so you can grow up to be just like your dad.”
“That’d be cool.”
Nick leaned in to give Scotty a quick hug. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“Okay. Nothing’s wrong, right?”
For the first—and hopefully the last—time, Nick looked him in the eye and lied. “Yeah, it’s all good. I’ll see you later.”
Brant ushered him out of the office.
Behind him, Nick heard Terry explaining that the vice president had been called away unexpectedly but wanted everyone to enjoy the party.
“This goes against every protocol we have in place,” Brant said tightly as they walked through the halls of the West Wing on their way out.
“I’m sorry to put you in this position. I’ll take the full blame if the shit hits the fan.”
“If? The shit is probably already hitting the fan. The rest of your detail is most likely reporting the breach to Headquarters as we speak.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here before someone tries to stop us.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You were our friend, Leonard,” Marissa said softly from the floor. Blood flowed from her mouth and formed puddles under her head and midsection. Judging from the reek filling the room, she’d also lost control of her bowels. “You told us they were going to arrest Billy. You tried to help us. Why would you do this to me?”
At least Sam now knew how the Springers had found out about their plans to arrest Billy. What she still didn’t know was who had told Stahl. If she ever got out of here, finding that out would be one of her first orders of business.
“Because you’d outlived your usefulness.” He grunted as he tightened the razor wire around Sam’s body. A drop of his sweat landed on her forehead, making her gag as it ran straight down her face. She sealed her lips to stop it from going in her mouth. The burn of vomit in her throat had her swallowing frantically to keep it from coming up any further.
She hurt everywhere from the cuts that marked her entire body. The warm, persistent flow of blood from her neck to her chest concerned her. Had she nicked a major artery? How long would it take to bleed out? Was that what he wanted? For her to have a slow, painful, drawn-out demise?
The idea of that scared her far more than a bullet to the brain did.
At least that would be quick and over before the pain could register. This was torture. Her lower abdomen was on fire from the need to urinate that became more insistent with every passing moment. Part of her wanted to pee all over the place. But she couldn’t make herself do it.
Once he had her totally trussed up in the razor wire, he went back to the garage and returned with a can of gasoline.
Sam knew a moment of sheer panic when she realized his intentions. He planned to burn her alive. He’d made it so she couldn’t move without slicing herself open, and he was going to start a fire that she’d be unable to defend herself against. What a way to go.
Where the fuck were her people? And what the fuck was taking so long to get her out of here?
* * *
“Talk to me,” Malone said to the team gathered before him. MPD’s SWAT and tactical response teams were on-site, as was FBI Special Agent George Terrell, who’d informed him that Agent Hill was en route. “What’s our plan?”
Freddie Cruz came running up to him, breathless and white faced. “What’s the latest?”
“We’re trying to figure that out right now, but we know there’s been at least one shot fired since we’ve been on the scene.” Malone spread out the architectural drawings of the townhouse that had been procured from the development’s main office. “From what I can tell, there are three ways in.” He pointed to a deck off the master bedroom, the front door and the garage.
“The garage leads into the basement family room,” Cruz said.
“I recommend we hit all three points of egress and every window in the house at the same time,” SWAT Captain Nickelson said. “Coordinated attack.”
“I agree,” Farnsworth said. “Let’s hit it hard and fast.”
“Shouldn’t we try to establish contact first?” Gonzo asked, concerned about skipping steps in their haste to rescue Sam.
“We have no idea how long she’s been in there,” Farnsworth said. “I hate to waste any more time when she could be injured.”
The possibility that she was worse than injured was left unsaid, but everyone was thinking it.
“The sergeant’s right, sir,” Malone said softly, painfully aware of Farnsworth’s personal connection to Holland. Hell, he was personally connected to her himself and couldn’t picture the department or his life without the brash lieutenant raising hell every chance she got. “We need to at least try to establish contact.”
“Someone get me the landline number for the Springers,” Farnsworth said.
“I’ve got it in my notes from the investigation,” Cruz said, consulting his phone. “Here it is.”
“Call it,” Malone said. “Put it on speaker so we can all hear.”
The phone rang five times before it was answered. “Well, hello there,” a familiar voice said. “Took you long enough to get your act together, but I’m not at all surprised.”
“Is that Stahl?” Gonzo whispered.
“Fuck,” the chief muttered.
The entire group deflated when they realized what they were up against—or rather who they were up against—someone who had nothing to lose and a very big ax to grind against Holland and the rest of them.
Malone felt like he was having a heart attack.
“What do you want?” Farnsworth barked.
“Ahh, is that you, Chief? How you doing? I’ve missed seeing you around the house since you kicked me out for making a phone call. I’ve got your little girl Holland here, but don’t worry. I’m taking very good care of her.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“She’s kind of...tied up at the moment.”
“Whatever you want, you’re not getting it until we know she’s alive.”
“She’s alive. For now anyway.”
A gasp from behind them had them all turning to see Nick Cappuano accompanied by an extremely unhappy-looking Secret Service agent.
“If you harm one hair on her head,” Farnsworth said, “I’ll kill you myself, you worthle—”
Malone grabbed the phone from the chief and shook his head. Antagonizing Stahl wouldn’t do a thing to help Sam, which the chief certainly knew. But this was personal for him. For all of them.
“Where’d you go, Chief?” Stahl asked. “It was just starting to get interesting.”
“It’s Malone. What do you want?”
“Captain! How nice to hear from you. It’s just like old times around here. Hmmm, what do I want? Let me see. I’d like my old command back, for one thing.”
“You’re already facing felony charges for the attack on Lieutenant Holland. You know we can’t allow you back into the department as long as that is ongoing.”
“What is it you guys see in her anyway? Is she fucking the whole lot of you?”
“She’s extremely good at her job, as you well know,” Malone said through gritted teeth. God, he’d hated Stahl from the first minute the cheeky bastard had graduated from the academy and come to work under his command when Malone had been the lieutenant in charge of the Patrol Division. He’d been a pain in Malone’s ass ever since. But this... Taking Holland hostage and doing God knows what to Mrs. Springer and her maid.
“Good at her job. Of course she is. She’s sucking all your dicks so she can run wild and do whatever she wants. Right now, she can’t do much of anything.”
“Have you hurt her?”
“Define hurt.”
“Is she injured?”
“Let me see. Yes, I think you could say she’s injured. For sure.”
“Let her go and we can work this out, Len. I can’t help you at all if you harm her. You know that.”
“Now I’m Len, huh? What happened to Fat Fuck? Oh, you didn’t know that I knew you called me that behind my back?”
“What does that have to do with Holland?”
“She’s made my life a living hell, and now I’m going to do the same to her.”
“Let me get you out of there and find you some help—”
Stahl’s loud laugh startled everyone. “Now you want to ‘help’ me. Seems to me you took great pleasure in arresting me not that long ago. Now I’m going to take great pleasure in killing your golden girl. Good to catch up, Captain. Give everyone my regards, but I’ve got work to do. Gotta go.”
“Don’t hang up.”
The line went dead.
“Motherfucker,” Malone muttered under his breath.
“You have to go in there and get her,” Nick said. “He said she’s injured.”
Malone felt for the guy. He truly did. The two of them were crazy in love. Anyone could see that. But he couldn’t risk his people without having a solid plan in place, and solid plans took time they didn’t have. He glanced at the chief. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to kill him with my bare hands,” Farnsworth growled.
“What’s your second thought?” Malone asked.
Hill came running up to them, looking frazzled. “What’s going on?”
“Stahl has Lieutenant Holland,” Malone said. “He says she’s injured but he won’t say in what way.”
“Are you going in?” Hill asked, hands on hips, eyes intense and focused.
“We were just discussing our limited options when you joined us. Nickelson, what do you think?”
“I still say we hit it hard and fast through every window and every door.”
“He’ll be ready for us,” Malone said. “He’s no fool, and he’s a well-trained police officer. He knows what we’ll do.”
“So let’s play right into his hand,” Gonzo said.
“How so?” Hill asked.
“Let’s give him exactly what he expects. We give him his big moment and let him go out in his blaze of glory. That’s what this is. There’s no way he’ll survive in prison, and he
knows that.”
“What about Sam?” Nick asked. “If you go in there with guns blazing, he’s apt to take her with him.”
“If we don’t go in there,” Malone said, keying in to where Gonzo was heading, “he’s going to take her with him anyway.”
“Exactly,” Gonzo said.
“Chief?” Malone looked to his longtime friend. “It’s your call.”
Farnsworth looked at the house for a long moment while everyone waited for him to decide. He never blinked when he said, “Do it.”
* * *
The smell of gas was overwhelming and made Sam’s eyes burn. He dumped it around her in a big circle.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Marissa croaked from the floor.
Stahl crossed the room to dump some of the gas on her.
She screamed from the pain of the gas connecting with her wound.
“I’m so fucking sick of women who think they should have an opinion. Shut your fucking mouths and do what you were put on this earth to do—spread your legs and breed. Lori Phillips understood that. When I offered her cocaine in exchange for a lay, she spread her legs wide open.”
“You’re a pig,” Marissa said.
Sam couldn’t have said it better herself. Her legs would have to be wide open to accommodate him.
“Worst thing they ever did was let bitches into the police department. Ruined everything.”
Listening to his rant, Sam felt vindicated for the nearly visceral reaction she’d had the first time she ever met him. Her gut had let her know he was no good, and nothing she’d seen of him in the ensuing years had changed that first impression. But to hear his true thoughts about women in general and women on the job, in particular, was illuminating.
Speaking of illuminating... He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and shook it in front of her face. “Ready to roast?”
As she had all along, Sam pretended she couldn’t hear him and tried to remain calm despite the pervasive stench of gasoline and the maniac with the matches. During her years on the job, she’d imagined a number of different ways her life might suddenly end. Most of the scenarios she’d imagined found her on the wrong end of a gun. She certainly hadn’t considered the possibility that one of her fellow officers would wrap her in razor wire and set her on fire. And here she’d thought she had such a good imagination.
