While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  The transformation from Max Crayton, Security Consultant, to trained agent took too long. Fear, that monster capable of eroding all the training in the world, just wouldn’t leave. He turned on the water and picked up her coffee pot, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear, ignoring the pain the positioning caused. “Get back to me as soon as you can.”

  Max drank the first cup of coffee before the pot had finished brewing. He downed the second while he played the message again, trying to filter out the expectant, breathless sound of Kat’s voice as she answered. How could he have slept through that? He ate bread, because the coffee would shred his stomach without a buffer. The caffeine cleared the remaining mists from his mind. He methodically began to tear her house apart.

  There were plenty of pictures, he discovered. None out. All in boxes. One of her parents. Dozens of Lizzie. Pictures of him, of Kat with him. He didn’t remember her taking so many pictures during that long-ago, make-believe time, but apparently she had. There wasn’t a single picture of Vic. Not one. Not anywhere.

  Max left the disheveled Christmas ornaments in the garage and headed back to the kitchen. He poured another cup of coffee and returned to the upended contents of her purse. Lip balm, tissues, a quarter, a small hair brush and a mirror. No scraps of paper, no gum wrappers, no ticket stubs, not even a parking receipt. Not a single strand of hair in the brush. Panic chewed hard on the edges of his stern control.

  He nearly winced. Nearly. Instead he finished his third cup of coffee and headed for the computer. Good old Vic had left a message on Kat’s machine. It would be traceable–eventually. The phone company had records, but they took days to access. His gut screamed he didn’t have days. If this didn’t work, he’d call Viper.

  “Advanced search,” he muttered. “Victor Fordon.” It took forever to type in the request using only one hand.

  Not a single hit.

  Max frowned. The man was a media consultant–an attorney. PR. How could he not have his name all over the internet? He called Reicher.

  “You get anything?”

  “Not so far. Ready to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I told you. I was asleep.” Max hit the play button on the answering machine so Reicher could hear for himself. “You talked to her last. Where was she?”

  “I couldn’t hear. The connection was horrible. What was she wearing? I’ll send out a BOLO.”

  “I don’t know.” His control slipped a little more. Where was she? “She took a shower, changed her clothes. She’s in her Lexus SUV.”

  The one you checked for electronics and then didn’t disarm when you cleaned the house.

  Her car wasn’t clean. That was all he knew for sure. At the very least, whoever was behind all of this had access to her voice. Maybe worse.

  “I’ll run the plates.”

  “Did you check with the airlines on Fordon’s arrival?”

  “It’s going through channels.”

  Red tape. Max knew how to cut through that and even though he didn’t relish calling his former boss yet again, it was time. “I’m here,” he said simply and disconnected. He dialed, waiting endless seconds while the receiver recorded clicks and whirls, routing and rerouting the call through myriads of filters and screens. Max’s gaze fell on his kit, sitting unobtrusively next to the couch. Had he left it there? He couldn’t remember, but something about it didn’t seem right. He knelt, fingers awkward in performing what used to be the simple task of opening the case. The rifle was untouched. His Sig Sauer wasn’t.

  “Viper.”

  “It’s Ice.” He wished it really were. Unfortunately, the man in love with Kat was making that level of detachment impossible.

  “Have you found her?”

  “No. And now there’s a complication.” Viper didn’t speak. Max didn’t expect him to. “I need some intel. Anything you can find on a Victor Fordon. English accent. Talking head. Shark.” How much to tell? “He called here tonight, supposedly from somewhere in Denver. A woman went to meet him, then called the police saying she was going after Lizzie. She hasn’t been heard from since.”

  “Where’d she call from?”

  “Cell. It’s no longer in service–either because she’s out of a service area or she’s turned it off.”

  “You think she found your niece?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She important to you, Ice?”

  The question shook him. Of course she was important, but why had Viper asked? Was it that obvious? Had his control slipped that much? “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll get right on it.” He rattled off questions, Max supplied the answers he knew. Kat’s full name, date of birth, phone numbers. Relationship to Victor Fordon.

  “Ex-husband. That’s all I know about him.”

  Viper’s chuckle was irritating as hell. “So it’s like that, is it?”

  Max decided an answer wasn’t necessary.

  “Fordon. Means Destroyer, you know.”

  Max knew it was just Viper’s program. Millions of details, most useless, like the meaning of names. The knowledge didn’t stop the knife from twisting in his gut. “No. I didn’t.”

  Viper laughed again, then apologized. “Sorry, Ice. Forwarding file to Ghost. Be back with you shortly.”

  Max flipped the phone closed on his leg, then went into the bedroom to change his clothes. And put on his boots. He didn’t know what would happen next, but he’d be ready when it did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kat slid into the shadows of the main house. One short burst of an exhale was all the relief she allowed herself. The closer she got to Lizzie, the more anxiety ate at her soul. One window on this side, covered with brown paper or an incredibly filthy shade. There was a light on inside the room though she couldn’t hear anything.

  Staying out of sight beside the window, she tried to peer through. Nothing. Must be brown paper. Whatever it was, something fastened the window covering securely to the frame. In the front, Kat could see one of the guards, just to the left of the entry gate. Was he talking to the other one? She couldn’t tell. Were there more?

  She kept the house behind her as she made her way west, toward the back of the house. In the distance she could see the rear wall. Smooth brick, same as the two sides. The house was an older building, badly in need of paint, but the walls surrounding the acreage had cost someone dear. A third guard strolled just inside this section of wall, his eyes on a possible threat from the empty fields beyond.

  Three, then. Two in front, one in back. She and Lizzie would leave to the west. Kat returned her attention to the house. This side of the house had three windows. The one closest to her was dark. There was a tiny, transom-like window up high and then a larger one at the far end. A faint glow luminesced from the small, horizontal window, as if through an open door into the room, not in the room itself. The large window at the end gave off a tan hue. She retreated into the shadows as the rear guard spun and retraced his steps.

  The back of the house was lit by moonlight. Its single door was in the middle, bright in the glow from a lone fixture.

  Too risky. She could take out the guard, but not without alerting those in the house. Kat slunk back to the front corner. It was darker here. Of course, there were also two guards to worry about. Only three windows, all large, but dark. Kat frowned.

  Out by the front fence, she could hear the guards communicating. Their soft voices carried swiftly through the chilly air. Kat heard the hum of an engine and the talking up front suddenly ceased.

  Reicher! Finally. If his men engaged the guards, she could slip inside, find Lizzie and run. Nothing sounded better. She swung her gaze to the road, barely visible over the front wall, nearly a half-mile from where she stood. Headlights speared the night. Kat counted. Three cars. Six officers? Surely he wouldn’t send just three. She waited. Watched. The cars roared by. But so had she, driven on down the road until she’d found a quiet place to park.

  But did cops drive pick-ups and compact c
ars? Kat frowned.

  She could hear at least one of the caravan pull over, near where her SUV was parked. Should she go back? Warn the police there were armed guards inside? Try to get inside the front door if the guards investigated? Had her own arrival sounded so loud?

  Kat cringed as a car door slammed. One of the guards at the front fence headed north. The other watched him go. Kat stepped around the corner. If they turned now, they’d see her, but there might not be another chance. Sticking close to the house, still facing the guards, she tip-toed toward the main door. Locked, as was the first window she’d come to. She didn’t have a choice but to try the second window.

  A car door slammed again. An engine started. Far to her left, south, a twig snapped. Right behind her, a radio crackled. “All clear. Neighbor picking up mail.”

  Kat whirled, but not before a thickly muscled arm snaked around her waist, yanking her back. A hand flew past her cheek, holding a rag soaked in something that made her eyes sting. Kat shoved her elbow back, connecting solidly with muscle. She heard a muffled groan and twisted out of the man’s grasp. Her single shot hit his knee. He crumpled to the ground with a moan.

  Possibly the guard from the back, but she couldn’t tell for sure. The strap of his gun slid easily over her shoulder. She patted him down, lifting a revolver from a holster under his arm, pausing only to utter one brief warning.

  “Silence or death. Your choice.”

  The moaning stopped.

  The noise from her single shot was already bringing the other guards. She could see them, flying toward the house, but they hadn’t yet spotted her. If she was lucky, someone would open the front door. Three guards outside, one disabled. They’d have at least one inside with her daughter. Kill or be killed. She flattened herself in the shadows beside the door. Watched the guards from the front advance.

  And prayed.

  Her wait wasn’t long. The front door flew open and Kat advanced, Max’s gun solidly in the man’s temple. She slammed the door shut behind her and locked it, all without taking her eyes from the brown eyes of the man in front of her. “Knees.” He hit the floor. Kat moved behind him, hearing the guards from outside at the door. How long before they got in? She lifted her gun and brought it down hard on the kneeling man’s head. He slumped to the floor but the impact left her own hand stinging.

  “Lizzie?” she called hesitantly. She didn’t want to think what would happen if they had more than one man inside. Somewhere behind her a door was kicked open and then there was silence. She grabbed two guns from the man crumpled on the floor, backed away from the front door. Where was Lizzie?

  She was alone in a dusty living room. Ahead of her on the right was an ancient kitchen, beyond it a dark hallway. Where was Lizzie?

  The unconscious man’s radio crackled loudly from his belt. Apparently only those outside got the headsets.

  “Can you hear me, love?”

  Even distorted with static there was no mistaking his accent. Vic.

  “I will kill her, Katherine.”

  How could she have been so stupid? She heard a muffled, high-pitched cry and closed her eyes. Her shoulders sagged, then straightened as she spun and dove for the walkie-talkie. “Don’t hurt her, Vic.”

  “More.” He was laughing. “Don’t hurt her more. That is what you mean, isn’t it, darling?” Kat squeezed her eyes shut tight to keep back tears. Defeat stung and her own stupidity left her furious but the fear in that soft wail was a swift blade, piercing her heart, her very soul as it sliced her up inside. The sound wasn’t just through the radio, she could hear her daughter, outside, crying.

  “Stop it!” she screamed into the mic.

  “I will if you will,” Vic taunted quietly.

  Lizzie’s cry died away. Kat sloughed off the shoulder straps of the two rifles she’d stolen from the guards and carefully set Max’s gun and one other on the floor next to them. “What do you want?”

  “More than you can provide, love, but I’ll settle for the front door open. Five. Four.”

  Kat scrambled to her feet, shoving her remaining stolen gun into the back of her waistband. Only a fool went into a fight without a secret.

  “Three.”

  Her fingers were shaking. Too much to open the deadbolt.

  “Two.”

  “Nooo!” Kat sobbed. She twisted the lock with both hands and flung open the door as Vic ended the countdown.

  He stood in the yard, holding Lizzie by her hair. For the first time in over a decade, Kat faced her daughter. Her breath caught in her throat. She was beautiful, so beautiful. Even with dirty streaks covering too-pale cheeks. Kat met Lizzie’s huge, terror-filled eyes and smiled. Lizzie ceased any attempt to get free. Kat tipped her head and broadened her smile. There wasn’t a trace of it in her voice when she spoke, however.

  “Let her go, Vic.”

  “I think not just yet.”

  Kat lifted her hands, showing she held no weapons. Her gaze never left her daughter’s. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Step out into the yard.”

  Kat didn’t hesitate. She walked down the crumbling concrete steps and straight up to Vic. To Lizzie. The sound of rifles loading right behind her barely registered. “Let her go.”

  Lizzie never moved. Her eyes were still huge, and now Kat was close enough to see surprise behind the fear. A swath of white seemed to swallow her left foot, but Kat wouldn’t look away from Lizzie’s eyes long enough for further assessment. “Let her go, you son of a bitch.”

  Vic laughed again and astonished her when he did as she requested. Lizzie took one hobbling step forward, Kat took three and then her arms were full. She wrapped Lizzie up tight and rested her cheek on her daughter’s tangled hair.

  Joy hurtled out of her soul and soared skyward like a geyser until Kat abruptly capped it. She even smelled beautiful, like sweat and a hint of the perfume Kat remembered from Lizzie’s bedroom. She tucked Lizzie under her arm, registering her daughter’s surprising height with only a portion of her mind as she faced her ex-husband. “Now what?”

  Vic took a step forward. Fury erupted as Lizzie cringed away from him. Kat got cold inside. It didn’t get any warmer when Vic erased the distance between them and caught her chin in his hand, yanking her face up to his. She met his eyes cooly, catching a glimpse of rage as dangerous as her own. “Shall I tell you, Kat? What comes next? Do you really want to know what I’m going to do to you? To her?”

  “She’s been through enough.”

  He laughed, one short burst of sound. “We haven’t even started, love.”

  Lizzie had retreated so far she was nearly behind Kat now, hiding her face in Kat’s side. Kat kept one arm around her shoulders, holding her close, and wrapped her fingers around Vic’s wrist with the other. Her sharp tug didn’t budge his fingers. He held her, even when she snapped her head back, trying to break his grip. His other hand cupped the back of her head, ignoring her struggles. When her head was forcibly upright again, he held her gaze. Kat refused to back down.

  “So you’re stronger,” she sneered. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Vic smiled and brought her face closer to his own, until their noses touched and she could smell his smoky, mechanical scent. Gunpowder. He smelled like gunpowder. Kat fought a sudden chill. His cheek scraped along her own until his lips found her ear.

  “How about I show you instead, hmmm? We’ve got three days, as I figure it.” His fingers at her chin shifted, crawling up to cover her mouth. “Three days for me to show you lots of things.”

  Kat renewed her struggles. He would not frighten her into submission. He would not win.

  “Seventy-two hours. You may survive, but only if you’re stronger than you were. Your daughter won’t.” His fingers muffled her cry then he released her, giving her chin a quick shove. Off balance, Kat tumbled backward, taking Lizzie with her, managing at the last moment to yank the little girl on top of her, breaking her fall. Kat felt other hands at her wrists, flattening them
to the ground. Her ankles were secured just as firmly, all before she could do more than blink. She could only stare in horror as Vic caught Lizzie by the hair and hauled her to her feet. Stare and scream.

  Knees crashed hard on her shoulders and a third man yanked her jaw shut, then placed a large hand over her nose and mouth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even breathe, she discovered with outrage. Vic stood over her, silhouetted by the moon, holding Lizzie in front of him, her daughter’s head smashed back against his chest, his hand over her mouth.

  Kat struggled uselessly against the strong hands that held her. Small black dots began to float in front of Vic, in front of her daughter’s panicked eyes. Vic didn’t move, eyes fastened on her as the black specks grew and her lungs burned unmercifully.