“Thanks,” she said, setting down the book and picking up her purse as she rose to her feet. “I might do that.” It would only take a minute.
But then she went still, remembering the steel in Sean’s voice.
Don’t go anywhere with anyone, not even if the building is burning down. Got it?
No, he wouldn’t be happy when he got back to his desk if she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
At her hesitation, the friendly detective said, “You want me to go grab you something instead? Or I can walk you that far, if you want.”
“Thank you,” she said again, politely, “but I can hold out until Sean is ready to go to lunch.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. Was he insulted by her implied distrust? Emily didn’t care.
She stole another look into the detective bullpen. Sean still hadn’t returned to his desk. She could hear voices coming from the room, but couldn’t see anyone from here.
The man beside her followed her gaze, then looked toward the entrance. Emily did the same, surprised to see that the counter was temporarily deserted.
“Emily Drake,” the detective said softly.
Made uneasy by something in his voice and eyes, she slid one foot back.
He moved so fast his hands blurred. One clamped over her mouth, spinning her so her back was to him. She struggled until a sting of pain inches from her spine had her freezing. Her purse dropped from her nerveless hand, landing with a clunk onto a chair.
“Pick up your purse. Do it,” he snarled in a near-soundless whisper next to her ear. “And if you make the slightest sound, I will gut you here and now.”
*****
Lieutenant Wilcynski stared at Sean. “Jesus.” It sounded prayerful. “I’d better let Mackay know.” He shook his head. “We could be wrong.”
“If so, why did he lie?”
“I’ve dealt before with cops who have gone bad.” Wilcynski shook his head. “But never anything like this. His whole career is a setup.”
“It looks that way.” Sean’s jaw tightened. “I need to get Emily out of here. I can’t make this arrest. I’m not feeling real dispassionate.”
The lieutenant nodded, his dark eyes keen. “I’m glad you can see that. All right. I’ll give Mackay a heads-up, then call Payne, find out where he is. I’ll make an excuse to get him in here.”
“Thanks.” Sean hesitated. “I hope I’m wrong.”
“But you’re not,” Wilcynski said grimly. “Go on. This isn’t a good place for Ms. Drake.”
“No, it’s not.” Sean backed out of the office. At his desk he reached to close down his computer, at the same time glancing through the doorway to the hall.
She wasn’t there.
Sean shoved his chair aside and ran into the hall. He stopped dead at the sight of the paperback book she’d been reading, now lying on the floor beneath a chair with pages splayed open.
Frantically, he turned. No sign of the desk sergeant. She’d been to the bathroom not that long ago. Even for that, she’d waited for his escort. She wasn’t stupid enough to go off on her own, was she? But she’d taken her purse.
His heart slammed against the wall of his chest like a jackhammer. The roar in his ears had to be his pulse.
He’d taken his eyes off her. He’d fucking left her alone.
Just like I did Matt.
*****
Emily whimpered behind the brutally hard grip. She tried sagging to become a dead weight, but the tip of the knife dug deeper into her flesh. The heavy outer door closed quietly behind them. He shoved her down the two steps from the concrete pad, going toward an unmarked police car parked not fifteen feet from this back entrance.
Shuddering, she realized he must have known she was there. Hoped to have a chance to catch her alone. I was stupid. If I hadn’t stood up. If I’d called for Sean…
Oh, God. Sean. He wouldn’t be able to live with her death. Not after his brother. I don’t want to die.
She stumbled. The hand over her face wrenched her upwards so savagely, pain lanced through her neck. It felt like whiplash.
If he succeeded in getting her into that car, she was dead.
Panic made it hard to think. He slammed her against the fender of the car, her purse forming an uncomfortable lump beneath her belly. The sharp pain in her back disappeared, but the man used the weight of his body to hold her in place.
Her mind cleared enough to tell her what he was doing. Keys. He had to get car keys out of his pocket, and that required a free hand.
Emily stared over the top of the car, desperately searching the limited parking for another person. Anyone at all.
No motion caught her eye. There were only a couple other cars back here, and nobody sat in any of them talking on a phone. Beyond the lot was an alley, and on the other side of that, an ugly, tall, grey brick wall with no windows. Warehouse.
They might be alone right now, but he wouldn’t want to kill her here in the parking lot. Someone could come along any moment. If she could just delay him…
He wrenched her sideways, toward the back of the car.
New horror filled her as she imagined the trunk lid coming down, sealing her into darkness.
Most trunk lids had emergency releases.
Which meant, oh God, he’d have to knock her out.
She began to fight, mindlessly and not all that effectively, but she couldn’t have stopped herself.
He cursed, and suddenly the blade of the knife bit into her throat.
“Don’t think you’re going to get away, bitch.”
The knife disappeared momentarily and the trunk sprang open.
Sean. Please, where are you?
But she knew. For her, time had elongated, stretched by terror. In real time, no more than two or three minutes had passed. He was still conferring with his boss.
He’ll come looking. Soon. He will.
If he checked the restroom and break room before he got too worried, he wouldn’t be in time.
If she could drop her purse, kick it under the car, her abductor might not want to take the time to crawl under to retrieve it. She knew he’d made her bring it because Sean would have known instantly that she’d never leave it.
A hard arm came around her belly and her feet left the ground. Emily saw that she was going head-first into the trunk.
Still operating on instinct, she twisted in mid-air so she could grab a part of the trunk lid. Kicking out wildly, she swung the purse at him, connecting with his midriff. If bounced off, the strap momentarily tangling with the butt of his holstered gun.
Gun. Oh, God, oh, God, she had a gun.
He was cursing, his expression vicious. Their battle was silent, and Emily knew his greater strength doomed her. And the knife. He’d shoved it through his belt. Could she somehow get her hand on it? But he saw where he was looking and hunched to keep it out of reach.
Suddenly, almost coldly, she knew what she had to do.
If she fell into the trunk, she’d have a very few seconds, a sliver of time, to reach into her purse and pull out the Colt. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to pull it out.
Thank God it wasn’t the kind of handbag that zipped.
Reach in, finger on the trigger, shoot.
No, no, safety first.
It was her only chance.
She let go of her determined grip on the trunk lid.
*****
This terror was worse than anything Sean had ever felt. It was like looking into hell. He heard himself calling Emily’s name, his voice raw. He yanked open the door to the break room. Empty.
Running footsteps behind him had him drawing his gun and spinning around.
It was Wilcynski, alarm on his face. Behind him was Worley, looking worried.
Sean jerked his head at Worley. “You. Parking garage.”
The detective must have been briefed, because without any questions he took off at a run.
“Quickest way out is right there,” Wilcynski said. His weapon was
in his hand.
“I know.” Making eye contact with Wilcynski, Sean already had his hand on the doorknob. “On three.” After seeing the nod, he turned the knob and began counting.
*****
Emily crashed onto the floor of the trunk hard enough to daze her even if her head hadn’t bounced of a sharp-cornered metal box to one side. Her hip had slammed against something hard. Odd-shaped. In a weird, disconnected way, she knew it was the spare tire.
But her hand had already delved into her bag, closed on the butt of the gun. Her thumb found the tiny lever on the side. The trunk lid was already coming down.
Finger on the trigger, shoot.
Hand shaking, she pointed the gun in the general direction of the portion of the man’s torso she could still see and pulled the trigger.
Pain speared her and she fell back.
*****
“Three.” Sean yanked the door open.
Wilcynski went through it, Glock extended. He yelled, “Hands in the air!” even as he jumped off the concrete pad to one side, allowing Sean to follow him.
That son of a bitch Payne wasn’t twenty feet away. He was in the act of closing the trunk of his unmarked car. At the sound of Wilcynski’s voice, he spun, reaching for his weapon.
A gun fired.
Sean automatically dropped to a crouch and saw out of the corner of his eye that Wilcynski had done the same. His finger tightened on the trigger.
But, stunned, he saw Payne staggering. He’d succeeded in turning to face the threat, but was having trouble keeping his feet under him. Red blossomed on his white shirt. He wove, crashed sideways against the back fender…and, in seemingly slow motion, toppled.
He came to rest with one cheek on the asphalt, his eyes still open. One hand was under him, the other laid helplessly to one side.
Scanning the parking lot, Sean and Wilcynski both ran, guns still extended in classic, two-handed grips. “Did you shoot?” Sean demanded to know, at the same time as the lieutenant said, “That wasn’t me. Was it you?”
Oh, Christ. Sean forgot any threat from another shooter.
Emily lay curled on her side at the back of the trunk, her eyes dazed. Dark bruises were forming on her jaw and blood trickled from her throat. She stared uncomprehending at the two men.
Her shoulder bag lay in front of her.
Wilcynski pressed the barrel of his Glock against Jason Payne’s temple. “You will turn over,” he said from between bared teeth. “Slowly. Make a wrong move and I’ll shoot. Don’t think I won’t.”
God. All Sean wanted to do was lift Emily out of trunk of that car and hold her. Instead, he kept his aim on Payne, who hadn’t moved, while surreptitiously watching for any other movement. Goddamnit, who was the shooter?
Seeing other cops pouring out of the building, he let go of that worry, crouched and rolled Payne over, not gently.
Blood soaked his shirt. The hidden hand was pressed to the wound. With Wilcynski covering him, Sean unholstered Payne’s police-issue Glock and set it beneath the bumper of the car, then did the same with the wicked, black-handled knife.
Then he flipped Payne back over, holstered his own gun and cuffed the creep.
Finally, finally, he could reach for Emily.
*****
I’m alive.
The surprise kept her immobile for a long time. That, and the pain.
Sean finally bent, half in the trunk, his face ravaged. “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he said, voice raw.
“I shot him, didn’t I?”
He blinked, as if surprised. “Did you?”
“Yes.” Her lips felt numb. “Is…is he dead?”
“No.” His voice was impossibly gentle. “I don’t see the gun.”
“It’s still in my purse.” Why did everything seem dreamlike? “I guess I’ll need a new purse.”
He laughed. He actually laughed. She watched as he picked her purse up very carefully and gingerly removed the gun he had given her. Then he poked a finger through the hole she’d blown in the leather. “You’re right. You might want a new one.”
She frowned at him. “That hurt.”
He cradled her cheek with one hand. “Where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere.” She bit her lip. “I mean shooting that thing. It’s so little, but I think I went flying back in the trunk when I pulled the trigger.”
“That’s the drawback with small semi-automatics. The recoil sucks.” Sean shook himself. “Did he hurt you?”
Emily had to think about it. “He stuck me with the knife a few times. And I fought him. I bet I have bruises.”
He began swearing, but also, finally, lifted her into his arms, swung her out of the trunk and held her close.
Emily realized they were at the center of a crowd now. Uniformed and plainclothes cops were everywhere, and an approaching siren was abruptly cut off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw flashing lights on an ambulance.
“You’re going to the hospital,” Sean told her.
“No.” She grabbed him. “Please. Can’t you take me?”
“Emily.” The strain in his voice was echoed on his face. “You’re bleeding.”
“I am?”
He was setting her down. On a gurney, she realized, seeing the dark blue uniforms of a pair of EMTs.
“Wait!” she cried. “What about him?” She turned her head, trying to see her abductor. Was he really a detective?
“He’s going, too. Different emergency vehicle. Emily, I’ll be there by the time they wheel you in.”
Still reluctant, she made herself release her tight-fisted grip on his shirt. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” Trying to smile, he did just that.
*****
Sean didn’t say much during the short drive home. Maybe it was because he had too much to say and didn’t know where to start.
The doctor had seen no reason to admit Emily. The worst of the small, penetrating wounds – his words, not Sean’s – had required three stitches. Other cuts were cleaned up and closed with butterfly bandages. Otherwise, his last advice had been, “Ice. Use lots of ice.”
As Sean had helped Emily into the passenger seat of his SUV, he had asked how she felt.
“I sting, burn and ache.” Her expression suggested she was doing an internal check. “My feet and legs are okay.” She sounded surprised.
If his laugh offended her, he couldn’t help it. The ebullience he felt had to come out somehow. He felt like a helium balloon bobbing on a string. She’s safe! She saved herself! She brought down a serial killer.
He had a tape playing in a loop in his head. Or a scratched record. His grandfather loved his old Glenn Miller and Frank Sinatra records and played them endlessly despite multiple scratches that required interventions.
She’s safe! She saved herself!
God help him, he suspected it might take days to shut this down. Days during which he’d ask himself whether he would have been in time. He thought so. But he had cut it too close.
The word ‘cut’ had him wincing.
Sean didn’t much like the rest of what he was thinking, either. Given a minute more, maybe as little as thirty more seconds, Jason Payne would have slammed the trunk closed and driven away. And, no, they wouldn’t have found him or Emily in time.
Sean still had no trouble seeing the pits of hell.
He turned into her driveway. For a minute, neither of them moved.
“Will he live?” she asked, not looking at him.
“Yeah.” He took her hand. “He came through the surgery. He’ll live to go to trial.”
“Can you get him for all three murders?”
“It’ll depend on what we find at his place. Whether there are any traces of blood on his knife. It’s possible he’ll only be charged with abducting you.”
She was quiet for a moment. “It might have been better if I’d killed him.”
Sean shook his head. “No, because then you would have to live with what you’d d
one.”
He knew what she was thinking. Payne would go to trial, all right, but if it was only for kidnapping, the four men he’d murdered wouldn’t received justice. Even worse in Sean’s eyes, Payne could be freed in only a few years and once more be a threat.
But she didn’t say anything, so he opened his door. By the time he came around to Emily’s side, she was already getting out, her movements stiff.
“Let me carry you.”
“No, I think walking will help loosen me up.” She grimaced. “I hope there’s enough ice in the house.”
“The doctor gave us several packs.”
“Oh, joy,” she mumbled.
He took the key from her and unlocked. He should help her to bed. Examine her bruises and break out those ice packs.
But they were barely inside, the door closed behind them, when he groaned and wrapped his arms around her.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said roughly.
Her purse dropped to the floor, but with less of a clunk since the handgun she’d used to shoot Jason Payne had been taken as evidence. Her arms came around him, too, and the tug at his shirt collar told him she was gripping fabric. She burrowed into him, and, God, all he wanted was to lie her down and claim her in the most primitive of ways.
“Emily.” His voice came out hoarse.
“Please.” She tipped her head back, her eyes huge and unfathomable. “Please.”
So he kissed her, drowned in her, and forgot all her hurt places.
They did make it to the bed, so at least he didn’t have to feel guilty later for adding to her collection of bruises.
*****
Emily had napped – or, more accurately, lapsed into unconsciousness – after the most astonishing lovemaking of her entire life. A couple of hours later, a pounding headache had awakened her.
Now, she was still ensconced in bed, but sitting up, wearing flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt, every pillow in the house behind her. A pain pill had done wonders. Sean sat on the edge of the bed beside her, and every so often moved an ice pack from one lump or bruise to another. She had just finished a bowl of soup.
Twisted Threads (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 3) Page 25
