Edge of the Heat 2 (Westwood Harbor Corruption)

by Ladew, Lisa

  Craig pulled into her driveway and stopped the big truck. She eyed the house. She hadn’t been here in 4, 5 days? It felt like forever. The house looked different, smaller, closed in on itself. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  “I’ll just be a second,” she said, jumping out of the truck. Behind her, she heard Craig turn off the engine and get out, then felt his presence behind her on the doorstep.

  She unlocked the door and ran left, down the hall to the bedroom, pulling clean underwear, jeans, and a mint green babydoll out of her dresser and closet, suddenly wanting to be out of here quickly. She shed what she had on, throwing everything in the hamper, and changed quickly. A swift stop in the bathroom to run a comb through her hair and maybe grab a tube of mascara and she was ready. Emma stopped short. Had she just heard a thump from the living room? She shoved the mascara in the pocket of her jeans and headed out of the bathroom, nerves suddenly on high alert.

  Tiptoeing down the hallway she instantly knew that coming to her house was one of the worst decisions she’d ever made in her life, right up there with marrying Norman. She wanted to call for Craig, but didn’t dare call for him at the same time. From her vantage point she could see about a third of the living room. Nothing was moving. The front door was closed. As she reached the end of the hall she peeked around it and saw Norman, bent over Craig, who was motionless on the ground. Norman shoved his gun cruelly into the back of Craig’s skull with one hand and patted him down with the other. Finding Craig’s gun in the boot holster he pulled it out and crammed it into his own waistband.

  He stood, pulled a dark tube from his back pocket and began screwing it onto his gun. Emma’s mind went blank from terror. He was going to shoot Craig! Again! “No!” she screamed, running for him. Norman backed up, pointing the gun at her now. She threw her body on top of Craig’s, two fingers going reflexively to his carotid artery. His pulse was there, strong and fine. “Craig, wake up, Craig, are you ok?” Her voice shook with desperation. How could this be happening? How could Norman be here? Had he gotten away? Where was Hawk?

  Norman barked out a short, hateful laugh. “Give it up Emma. He’s dead. He just doesn’t know it yet. And neither do you apparently.”

  He finished screwing the suppressor onto the gun and pointed it at them both. “Get up now Emma, don’t make me shoot him through you.”

  Emma curled her body around Craig’s head and chest. “Go ahead Norman,” she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

  Norman remained silent. Emma waited him out. She wasn’t moving. Her mind raced. Maybe if she stalled long enough Hawk would show up.

  “Why Norman, why do you want to shoot him so bad? Just leave him alone!” Isn’t this what you were supposed to do with crazy gunmen? Keep them talking?

  Norman barked that horrible laugh again. “He would shoot me if he had a chance cupcake, don’t you think he wouldn’t.”

  Cupcake. That’s what Norman had called her after they were married. She never had liked it, and she was pretty sure he knew it. But what in the world made him think he could call her that now? Oh yeah, he pretty much did whatever he wanted, up to and including murdering innocent people apparently. What did he care if he called an ex a name she didn’t like?

  “No he wouldn’t Norman, he would never shoot you, even though you would deserve it!”

  “What’s he been filling your ears with cupcake? Stories about me? I figured as much. And you wonder why he has to die. I’m giving you one last warning Emma. I will shoot you. I can shoot you somewhere that won’t kill you but you will gladly move off of him just to avoid being shot again, and then he’ll be shot anyway, so why bother getting yourself shot too? How about your right arm there, you won’t need it where you’re going.”

  Emma’s mind spun. Where I’m going? Won’t need it? What was going on here?

  “Where am I going Norman? Why are you here?” She asked quickly, pulling her arms in underneath her body, suddenly struck with how horribly exposed her legs were.

  “You’re going with me.”

  Emma saw a chance. A slim chance of survival for Craig. She had to take it. She dropped her tone, trying to find conciliatory.

  “Norman, what if I get up right now and go with you willingly, will you leave him? Can you just leave him and not shoot him? I swear I won’t give you any trouble if you just leave him here on the floor. Don’t hurt him.”

  “Sweet on him Emma? Don’t want your new boyfriend to die?” Norman’s tone was blank, not the sneering she would have expected. The blank tone terrified her. She was deathly afraid a bullet was following it.

  Emma thought back, racked her brain. Was there anything that had given her an advantage over Norman when they were married? He had hated her tears. That wouldn’t help her. Sexuality maybe, but that probably wouldn’t help her right now. Maybe later. If there was a later. What to do now? Lie? Tell the truth? Say nothing?

  She heard a soft metal against metal sound behind her. Norman cocking the gun to let her know her time was truly over. Her hands raised automatically to her head as she waited for the blast.

  “Norman listen to me,” the words spilled out of her mouth quickly, her brain not knowing which would come next. “Norman, really, what do you want from me? What can I do for you? Anything. I’ll do anything.” The last thing she wanted was to beg Norman, but she would if she thought it would help. Anything to keep him from putting another bullet into Craig’s head.

  His silence stretched out, filling the room.

  “Norman, I’m going with you. You want me with you. We can go, right now, together. I’ll go with you totally willingly if you just leave him be. Just let him lay here on the floor and we can leave right now. I swear I won’t fight you, I won’t run, I won’t yell, I won’t struggle. I’ll be yours.”

  A heavy clink on the floor next to her. She peeked out. A pair of handcuffs. “Cuff him,” Norman ordered.

  She huffed out the breath she’d been holding in relief. Eager to comply, praying Norman truly meant it, she rushed to put the handcuffs on Craig, pulling his heavy arms backwards behind him. From this vantage point, she thought she could see what Norman had done. Craig’s wound on the right side of his neck near where his skull meets it had looked so good, almost totally healed this morning. Now it was puffy and weeping again. The whole area looked purple and swollen. Emma imagined she could see the tennis ball-sized lump growing as she watched. Hot tears burned her eyes. The bastard had hit Craig in the head, right on top of his injury. Probably had pistol-whipped him. Emma could only imagine the repercussions of two horrible injuries in the same exact spot in the space of less than a week. No wonder Craig was still unconscious. And she had wanted to come here. Her hands shook, banging the handcuffs together. Please God, if you are watching, please help Craig be OK. And please send Hawk over here soon.

  “Now go sit on the couch. Pull your legs up onto the couch and cross them.”

  She did, her heart beating so loudly in her throat she could barely hear.

  Norman bent over Craig, pulling the handcuffs, testing her work. He went through Craig’s pockets again, finding his car keys and his phone. They both went in Norman’s pocket. He backed up, still facing her, and backed right into the kitchen, taking his eyes off of her for a second. She sat, staring straight ahead. What could she do? If she ran or screamed or grabbed the phone he would shoot Craig. So she sat.

  He opened a drawer and reappeared, an electronic tablet like an iPad in one hand, his gun in the other. He put the tablet down on the table, watching it and tapping it’s screen intently. After a few minutes he looked back at Emma, his eyes unreadable.

  He looked around the room. Emma watched him with terror in his eyes. What was he looking for now? Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it.

  “Get up,” he demanded gruffly. She scrambled to her feet.

  “I’m putting my gun away. You are going to walk a foot ahead of me. If you run, scream, shout, or otherwise try to attract th
e attention of anyone, I will turn around and put a bullet in lover boy’s brain in an instant. And if you get in front of me again, I’ll put a bullet in your’s too. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, with all the strength she could muster. Who knew where this was leading to. She was going to need to be strong.

  Chapter 18

  Craig came to slowly, his head a splitting mass of agony, his vision doubled, his right arm refusing to answer his commands. What in the hell had happened?

  He had been walking slowly through Emma’s house, waiting for her to grab some clothes so they could go get Vivian. Something about the house felt off, different, anxiety provoking. He was just about to pull his gun and go investigate the rest of the house when a blinding pain exploded in his head and he knew no more.

  He lifted his head and looked around. His head threatened to crack. He put it back down, closed his eyes, and listened. Nothing. He was alone in this house. Emma was gone. Norman was gone. He knew it was Norman. Who else would it be? Ahh, he was such a fool! There was some other asshole in Norman’s house shooting at his team while Norman slipped over here and took Emma.

  Craig gritted his teeth against the pain that was about to come and pushed himself forward until he could force himself into a kneeling position. That was actually a little better. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them. The room swam. His hands were manacled behind his back. Why wasn’t he dead was the real question.

  Emma must have done something. God he prayed she wasn’t hurt. He prayed he could find her. He couldn’t lose another woman to that monster Norman. His vision darkened immediately when he thought of what Norman had done to Lucy and what Norman could possibly do to Emma. If he lost Emma too … he wrenched his mind away. He couldn’t go there. That dark pit of despair was full of jagged spears that could rip him to shreds in a second and leave him writhing in his own mental agony on this floor, a threat to no one. A savior to no one. What he needed right now was to move, to get out of these cuffs, to get Hawk and go after Norman.

  Get out of these cuffs. Quickly. He had never tried before himself, but he knew it could be done. He’d had criminals escape cuffs on him a few times. He struggled to his feet, breathing against the dizziness that threatened to overcome him. He bent forward at the waist and scooted his handcuffed hands behind his back, down the length of his legs. He was too bulky for this, it worked better for thin guys, but it had to work. There was no way he could get the cuffs over his head like some of the double-jointed women could.

  His hands were stuck at his butt. He pulled out harder with his arms and pushed down and backwards with his shoulders. Oh shit! An epithet exploded in his head as he started to tip, falling forwards onto the floor on his face.

  He lay there for a second, trying to clear his head. The pain in the back of his neck was now monstrous, all consuming. Nausea threatened him. He didn’t have time for this!

  He pushed himself to his feet again, compartmentalizing the pain, and walked over to a wall to brace himself. If he couldn’t get it this time he’d need to go try to find a neighbor and hope they believed his story and would help him.

  Pressing his shoulder against the wall he leaned forward again, dragging his hands down his back and pushing-pulling past the swell of his butt. He got it! The rest was easy. He pulled his hands down to his feet and stepped backwards through them. His handcuffed hands were in front of him.

  The phone! He ran and grabbed the handset and awkwardly dialed Hawk’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

  “Hawk! That can’t be Norman inside the house! Norman came here and took Emma. Hawk he’s got Emma, we have to go after her.” His voice broke on the last word.

  He hit the button and tried another call to Dennis. Nothing again. He left a message to have Hawk call him at this number right away, it was an emergency. He tried every man in their team, and none of them answered their phones. Of course he wasn’t surprised, but he was terrified. He hung up the phone and started looking for a shim or a bobbypin to get him out of these cuffs.

  A thought struck him. How long had he been unconscious? What if they’d just walked out the door? He ran to the front picture window. No one was on the street in front. He grabbed a jacket from the nail on the wail, covering his handcuffed wrists with it and ran outside, searching both ways for any sign of them. Nothing. No cars, no people.

  Ok, back inside, get these cuffs off, and think! Craig ran into the bathroom and rummaged around until he found a bobby pin. He bent it carefully until he could fit it inside the keyhole of the cuffs and pop them open. First one, then the other. Free!

  Still no phone calls. He checked his pockets. No keys, no phone. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for the damn phone to ring! He was heading to Norman’s house. He made up his mind, he was going to hotwire his own truck. He could be there in 10 minutes. Racing back out the door, he heard the phone ring. He ran back in, a glimmer of hope lighting up his chest, and picked it up. “Hawk?”

  “Go,” Hawk growled, gunshots ringing in the background.

  “Hawk, Norman isn’t in that house. Can’t be. He came and took Emma. Emma’s gone! He knocked me out and kidnapped Emma.” Craig felt about to break down, about to lose it.

  Hawk was silent. Craig could hear his mental wheels clicking and turning though. He waited.

  “Where are you?” Hawk’s voice betrayed nothing. But Craig knew he was feeling the same desperation Craig was. Norman was getting the best of them again. And another woman might pay for it with her life.

  “I’m at Emma’s house. We left the hospital. We came here to get her clothes. He was waiting here for us. I didn’t see him, but I know it was him.”

  “How long ago?”

  Craig’s eyes searched the small living room for a clock. “Um, we got here around 11, I think and it’s … 11:40 now. My best guess is I was out for 15 minutes. I’ve been awake for 5. So he probably took her 15 or 20 minutes ago.” Craig’s heart broke with this news. 20 minutes? Norman could be anywhere by now.

  “What is he driving, do you know?”

  “No, no idea.”

  “His car is here in front of the house, so he’s in something different. We’re about to do a hail mary swarm on the house. I’ll leave Carruthers to mop up whatever shitstorm we find in there and come get you. I’ll be there in 10.”

  The phone went dead in his ear. 10 minutes. What in the hell was Craig going to do for 10 minutes? Search for clues, that’s what.

  He started in the kitchen, where he was pretty sure Norman had been holed up, waiting for them. Nothing caught his eye, except a partially open drawer. Nothing out of the ordinary in there. The lock on the sliding back door had been jimmied, he could see that from here. So that’s how Norman got in. He stepped onto the back porch and found a pile of cigarette butts. Emma didn’t smoke. Norman normally didn’t either, as far as he knew. Uncertainty tugged at him. Maybe this hadn’t been Norman after all? His right hand snuck to the back of his head, gently probing the large, angry lump there. If it wasn’t Norman, then how did he know to hit me in almost the exact same spot where I was shot? Maybe it wasn’t Norman who shot him either? No, it was! He knew it was.

  Heading back into the house he checked Emma’s bedroom for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing back here. Seeing her nicely made bed and neatly hung clothes in her closet made Craig’s heart hurt faster. He had to do something! He checked the alarm clock on the dresser. 10 minutes had passed. He ran back out to the front of the house to look for Hawk.

  ***

  Hawk barely slowed down long enough for Craig to jump in the big, black, government-issue Ford F350 he was driving. “Where we headed?” Craig asked.

  “HQ, gonna see if Norman owns any other vehicles and check street cams.”

  Fucking genius! Craig craned his head to see if there were any cams in this neighborhood. He didn’t see any right here, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Craig took three deep breaths and crammed on his seatbelt. Hawk had t
he temporary bubble lights and siren blaring, moving as fast as possible.

  Dodging cars and streetlights, Hawk’s attention was firmly on the road, but he’d been doing this long enough to be able to talk too. “How’s your head?”

  “Hurts like hell,” Craig admitted.

  “We should get you back to the doctor. 15 minutes is a long time to be unconscious.”

  “Find Emma and you can take me anywhere you want. But until we find her …” he trailed off, knowing he didn’t need to explain himself to Hawk. Partially to change the subject, but mostly because he really wanted to know what SOB was working with Norman he asked, “So who was in the house?”

  Hawk grunted. “No one. He had it rigged up to a computer that he was operating remotely. The bastard was shooting at us and talking to us, and watching and listening to us from somewhere else. Emma’s house maybe.”

  Craig felt like he had been punched in the gut. Norman was one smart, slippery, son of a bitch. What if they couldn’t find him before… before the unthinkable?

  They pulled in front of the large brick building and ran in straight to the batcave. “Call Carruthers, see if he found anything we can use pertaining to any other vehicles or homes Foster may own.” Craig nodded.

  Hawk slid into the chair in front of the rows of monitors, flying his fingers over the keyboard. Craig knew if there was anything to be found, Hawk would find it.

  Chapter 19

  Emma didn’t dare yell, scream for help, or even drag her feet. It was obvious Norman meant business. Until they were far enough away that she knew he wouldn’t turn around to put a bullet in Craig’s brain, she planned on doing exactly what he wanted. But after that, all bets were off. She had never hated anyone in her life, but her blood boiled and her brain fried at the thought of Norman’s audacity and cruelty.

  He led her six blocks away on foot to a giant RV he had parked in the empty parking lot of the community playground. It was modern, big and blocky, with brown sidewalls and dark, tinted windows. He unlocked the side back door and pushed her inside. Immediately her eyes started devouring the room, looking for her future means of escape. She noticed an apparent modification that didn’t make any sense to her. A large metal ring screwed into the middle of the floor.