by Naomi West
This was it. This was his chance to get Mark Letterman. He sprinted inside the building, knowing he had one final thing to do: find Mark and make him confess.
# # #
Abby
It was like she'd been scooped up from Fifty Shades of Grey and dumped into Die Hard.
Duct tape still over her mouth, Abby screamed wordlessly as SWAT and police came bursting through the front and back doors simultaneously, screaming, “Police! Everyone get down!”
Abby screamed in wordless terror again as the men, at least a dozen, poured into her house, submachine guns in hand, tricked out in full armor and helmets, red lasers like they'd focused on Zed earlier dancing around the house like demonic will-o'-the-wisps.
“Secure!” shouted one team, as they cleared her dining room and kitchen.
She kicked frantically in her chair, looking around, trying to track all the sudden movement around her.
“Bedroom secure!” came another voice from deeper in the house.
One of the police officers came up to her, pulling down his face guard and letting his deadly weapon drop to the side and hang from his tactical sling. “Ms. Winters?” he asked, as looked her up and down. He pulled the tape Zed had placed over her lips, peeling it off as gently as was possible with the sticky material. “You all right, ma'am?”
“Zed Hesse is my boyfriend!” she shouted. “He's not a threat!”
“Pardon me?” the SWAT member said, as more men, plain clothed officers this time, came rushing into the now-secure scene. Another one of the assault team flicked open a pocket knife and dropped into a squat, beginning to work at her bindings. The blade slipped against her skin as he sawed through the tape.
“Zed!” she repeated loudly. “He's not a threat!”
“Stand aside,” one of the plain-clothed detectives, a heavy set, middle-aged man with a mop of brown curls up top said, as he brushed aside the SWAT member who'd removed Abby's duct tape gag. “I'm Det. Reynolds,” he said, as he offered her a hand. Behind him came the trauma units and first responder EMT's. “Let's get you out of here.”
“No!” she shouted. “I need you to listen to me!”
“Ms. Winters,” Det. Reynolds said, “I know this a stressful time, but we need to ask you a few questions. We need you to calm down, let the teams do their work, and—”
“Det. Reynolds,” she said, her words suddenly as cold and focused as when she was just the Ice Queen of Pharma-Vitae, “Zed Hesse didn't kidnap me. He's trying to exonerate his brother Kai Hesse by tracking down Mark Letterman, the head of sales for my company. Letterman intentionally released a bad medication for profit. He's the man you need to investigate, not my boyfriend.”
Det. Reynolds wiped a hand through his mop of curls, his eyes searching. “Aw, geez. Thought this was just another day at the office.”
Abby smiled, thinking she was getting through to the detective. He turned to one of the uniformed officers next to him and, with one eye glancing her over, said, “Make sure we get her back to the station after the EMT's look her over. This ain't adding up.”
Wait. She knew that look. They didn't believe her.
The trauma team, almost on cue, got her attention and helped her sit down so they could begin taking vitals. The uniformed officer Det. Reynolds had spoken to came over, his eyes settling on her, his hand on his gun.
Abby shook her head. No, this was not how things were supposed to work. Zed had run to get the attention of the cops, not to leave her as some sacrificial lamb. But that was exactly how she felt—a poor animal being offered up for slaughter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Abby
With a clean bill of health, she was ushered out of the house a short while later. Det. Reynolds and the uniformed officer were at her side the whole time as they escorted her out the front door and onto her demolished lawn.
She groaned as she looked at the damage Zed had caused to the front of her house with her SUV. She ran her eyes over the pieces of her garage door laying all over the driveway and street, the mud-hole of a front yard, and her destroyed mailbox. “Zed,” she groaned. “Really?”
As the two men took her across the street to an unmarked police vehicle, she told them her side of the story.
Det. Reynolds sighed as he escorted her around to the passenger side door. “Look, I want to believe you. I really do. It sounds almost sweet, even, your boyfriend saving you from your rivals while he's trying to exonerate his twin brother. Real sweet. Almost perfect, like one of my wife's romance novels or some kinda nonsense.”
“But, you don't believe me,” Abby said, her voice glum.
“No, unfortunately, I don't. Wanna hear what I think? I think, what we got here, is you trying to extort money from your company for whatever reason. Greed? The thrill? Trying to relive Natural Born Killers? I dunno yet. But, you got cold feet on the whole thing, so your boyfriend took off on ya to try and get the money before word got out.”
She just looked up at him, blinking sadly in defeat.
“And, since you ain't got proof on hand of any of this,” Det. Reynolds continued when she didn't respond, “I'm gonna advise you to get a lawyer. This doesn't look good for you, Ms. Winters. That's what I think.”
Then, she realized what she was forgetting. No, she might not have evidence, but two other people did. “Kara Singh,” she said, “the reporter you let in to interview us as Zed's first demand?”
“What about her?”
“She made a recording of me and Zed, together, while she was in there, explaining the whole thing. She'll back me up, and be able to provide you with the evidence. And, Jackie Robertson, my personal assistant, will back up my story on Zed being my boyfriend. Call them. They'll tell you.”
Det. Reynolds sighed and checked his watch. Inside the car, the police radio crackled and popped, static-filled communications filling the airwaves. The detective tugged at his tie and pulled it out at a forty-five-degree angle from his chest as he seemed to consider her words for a long time. Then, he sighed again, and let the strip of cloth drop to rest on his barrel-chest. “Okay,” he said. “I'll call the reporter lady and see if she backs you up. You got a number for your secretary?”
“You got a pen?”
She gave him the number and settled back into the passenger seat of the cop car, her nose wrinkling at the smell. Now that she wasn't under constant tress, she realized how much the interior stank of stale coffee and fast food.
“Oh, Zed,” she groaned, lying back in the seat. “This was not how it was all supposed to end.”
As she rested there for a moment, the police radio blaring its almost incomprehensible slang and cop-talk, she realized suddenly what they were saying. “Perp is at Pharma-Vitae offices downtown. Repeat, all units proceed to Pharma-Vitae for suspected shooter incident. Offices shut down and cordoned off. Repeat, all units proceed to Pharma-Vitae.”
Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh, fuck!
Zed!
She'd never been a praying woman before. She felt everything she'd ever accomplished had been on her own merits. There had never been any help, especially from her mother.
But, whether or not she was before that day, sitting in that cop car with the radio crackling and popping, she became one.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just let him come home to me.”
# # #
Zed
“Zed?” Jackie, purse and empty travel mug in hand, asked as he burst into the lobby. “What are you doing here?” She must have remembered quickly, though, because she began to backpedal away from him as he advanced on her.
“Sorry, Jackie,” he growled, as he shot an arm out and grabbed hold of her. “This needs to look real.”
She screamed as he yanked her into his one-armed embrace and pulled his pistol from his jacket. All around them, the lobby broke into a panic, ten or so employees yelling and shoving, rushing for the fire exits—any exits—desperate to get away from Zed and his hostage. “Security!” screamed an older w
oman's voice, as she ran from the action. “He has a gun!”
“Jackie, be cool,” Zed growled in her ear as he made his way to the elevator, the Pharma-Vitae employees fleeing in front of him like rats from a sinking ship. “I need you to get me to Mark's office.”
“Be cool?” she gasped, beginning to hyperventilate. “Zed, this is so not cool! What the fuck are you doing?”
All around them, security began to swarm. There were four men in clean and pressed white shirts, their pistols raised, just doing their jobs.
Zed felt bad for them, and for Jackie. But, he'd done plenty of things already that he felt bad about, and this was a little like icing on the cake, as far as he was concerned. “Using you as a hostage,” he replied, trying to keep his voice as cheery as he could. “Abby's safe, I promise. This is all to help with our little problem.”
She seemed to relax a little at his words, but not much.
He didn't like using Jackie this way, or having to put her in any unnecessary danger. But, unfortunately, she'd been the closest person for him to grab. If the older lady screaming for security had been closer, she'd be the one he was guiding to the elevator. “I'm going up,” he said to the security guards as he made his way to elevator. “Anyone try and stop me, I decorate your lobby with this sweet thing's brains.”
The men looked back and forth to each other, then to the cops who were swarming up around Abby's Escalade that Zed had so unceremoniously parked in the little concrete plaza.
He didn't wait for their say so, but dragged Jackie the rest of the way to the elevator. “Push the button,” he said.
Jackie pushed it, her other hand returning to his wrist. “Aw,” she whispered, “you called me sweet thing.”
Zed ignored her little aside and, when the elevator buzzed, he stepped away from the button.
People came streaming out of the elevator, anxious to get home from work, and, upon seeing the gun he was brandishing, went running for the exits like the employees in the lobby had, earlier.
With the elevator clear, he and Jackie stepped on.
“Press Letterman's floor,” he growled to Jackie, as he stepped closer to the panel, the gun still at her head.
With a slightly shaky finger—not nearly as shaken as it should have been, though—she pushed the top floor. Mark was the on same floor as Abby, he noticed.
He turned his words back to the security guards stationed outside in the lobby, even though he'd never let his attention from them waver. “You stop the elevator, you have people waiting for me, or you do anything I don't fucking like,” he growled, “I put two in the bitch's head. Got it?”
The doors closed before they could respond.
“Ugh,” Jackie groaned. “Did you really have to call me a bitch?”
Zed chuckled and let her go, releasing his arm from her neck. “Sorry about that. Need them to think I'm for real.”
“Would've fooled me,” she said, tapping her foot as they rose higher through the steel-and-glass tower of corrupt capitalism. “So, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Try to get Mark to admit to everything,” he said with a shrug. “Honestly, I was just doing it to get the cops away from Abby, in case they started shooting.” He wiped a hand down his face, exhausted from the events of the already-full day. “Never thought I'd make it this far, to tell you the truth.”
“You know,” she said, looking up at him. “You two are pretty sweet. When, you know, you're not kidnapping her on national television.”
Zed grunted and shrugged. “I've really made a mess of this, haven't I?”
“Well, you can't make a multinational corporate omelet without breaking a few eggs.”
The elevator buzzed again as they reached the empty top floor. Jackie gave him quick directions to Mark's office and assured him he'd probably still be in there. “Every time we have a fire drill, he just stays in there on his computer. He never believes anything is real.”
Zed thanked her, stepped off the elevator, and stopped when she called his name.
“Yeah?” he asked, as he turned back to her.
“Good luck,” she said, smiling warmly as the elevator door closed. As the doors shut he faintly heard her cell phone begin to ring.
He headed off through the maze of cubicles, following her directions to a T, and went straight for Mark's office. He stepped through the door, pistol in his hand.
“Well, you're a little early, aren't you,” Mark asked, his voice barely surprised, “Mr. Hesse?”
The head of sales for Pharma-Vitae was sitting at his desk, a large over-stuffed duffel bag pushed in front of him, and a pistol in his hands.
Zed glanced from Mark's face to the pistol he was holding, then turned back around and closed the door, locking it. He turned back around and lowered his gun. “Relax, Mark,” he soothed, “I'm not here to hurt you. I just want my money and the truth about Abby Winters. Was that bitch behind Dimalerax, or not?”
Mark didn't respond at first, but Zed thought he saw the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his lips. It couldn't have just been a trick of the light, though, because when Zed focused back in on the reaction, it was gone. This one had a good poker face, that was certain.
“Believe me,” Zed said, “I've had the woman on ice for the last day, and I don't know how the fuck you've put up with it, man. Cold, frigid, and mean. The way she looks at you like you're lower than the low, and she's just some fucking woman who got where she is because of her rich mommy's money and fame. You should've seen her face the first time I spanked her.”
Mark smiled a little more obviously now. It was still subtle, but it was definitely there.
“What about you two?” Zed asked.
“About us two?” Mark asked. “What do you mean?”
“You ever . . .” he waggled his eyebrows. “. . . you know?”
“Us?” Mark asked, arching one brow. “Fuck, no. Couldn't even get her to join us for a drink at company parties.”
“Sorry, Mark, you missed out,” Zed grinned. “Turns out she really likes it rough. Took her a while to figure that out, though. Had her begging for it by the end, though.”
“You . . . really?”
Zed laughed. “Absolutely, man. You think I chose to take her hostage for her stunning personality? Nah, I wanted see if I could get the Ice Queen to thaw out. And man, once I got a little heat in her, turned out she was insatiable. Her cunt went from a deep-freeze to a hot spring.”
Mark grinned, letting himself join in on the sick parody of fun. It hurt Zed to talk about Abby this way, to demean her when she wasn't around, but he needed Mark to think he and Zed were on the same side, at least partially.
“Almost got her to admit what she'd done,” Zed continued, coming around the desk a little bit as he stuffed his gun back in shoulder holster. “But I had to move on this kidnapping thing before people got suspicious and came looking for her. I was this close.” He held up his right hand with his two fingers half an inch separated.
“Well,” Mark said, swinging around to track him a little more closely with his pistol. “She'll never break down. Not on everything. But, between you and me, I've seen the files, and I remember it like it was yesterday. She's the one who pushed Dimalerax out so hard. Said we needed to boost the revenue for her first quarterly meeting.” He paused and looked around. “You didn't bring her with you? I hadn't heard that on the news. Did you . . . you know?”
Zed feigned mock disbelief that Mark would think he was a murderer. “Did I what? Kill her? I left her back at the house, as part of our agreement. I just came for the money.”
“Well, frankly, I don't care if you brought her with you or buried her in the basement. I mean, it's a drop in the bucket, right? And, besides, it's not my money. Hell, we've got insurance for a reason.”
The Air Force vet laughed. “I like the way you think, Mark,” he said, grinning wolfishly and tapping an index finger to his temple. “You're a smart man.”
This was all on t
he outside, of course. He was calm, collected, and together—just sharing a joke with one of the guys. Locker room talk.
Inside, Zed was tearing at the walls of his own prison, itching to get out and rip Mark limb from limb. This piece of shit couldn't be allowed to live or to make anyone else's life worse. Here, inches from Zed's capable hands, was the man who had tried to ruin Abby's life and who had ruined Kai's life. And all for what? Greed. Simple, unfettered greed.
Zed and Mark grinned at each other. Yep, Zed realized, this was the asshole he wanted, right here.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Zed
“I tried telling her about my brother,” Zed continued, his eyes focused on Mark's to gauge his reaction. “And you'd think she was made of ivory, the way she responded.”
