Broken

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Brigid looked at the rest of the group. “You’re all easily found via your rental agreements. The best I could do was create new renters and file those online, hoping the owners don’t take too close a look.”

  “Sounds good,” Force said, patting Roscoe’s head when he lumbered in.

  Brigid shook her head at Wolfe. “The fake residence you set up in the abandoned cabin an hour from your real house is too obvious. Rock will know it’s a trap, so I transferred it out of your name, to a corporation, to another corporation and then another. He’ll be able to find the place, but it’ll take some work.”

  Wolfe frowned.

  Nari partially turned. “Is the place wired, Wolfe?”

  “No. Figured I’d stay there until Gary made a move,” Wolfe said. “But now we’re giving him a target-rich environment, so he won’t come for me first. The cabin is useless.”

  He had a cabin? Maybe they could fix it up when all of this was over—if they survived and managed to stay together. So far, they’d fought more than kissed, although the kisses had been spectacular. Dana tried to hide a yawn behind her hand.

  “I’ll walk you out to Mal’s rig.” Wolfe held out a hand, his back-to-business expression firmly in place.

  She sighed and took it. Dating him sure took a lot of patience and energy.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Wolfe loosened his arms, surprised at the tension coursing through him as he tugged down the brim of his baseball cap. He’d been on more ops than he could count, but he couldn’t let go of the dread in his gut on this one.

  “Calm down, man.” Force walked beside him on the quiet residential street, his hands at his sides, a similar cap covering his head. “Mal will make sure nothing happens to Dana.”

  “Rock, I mean Gary, might just blow up Mal’s house,” Wolfe growled.

  Force shook his head, swerving around a fire hydrant on the sidewalk. “No. He won’t want to make that much of a splash yet. He’s going to pick your friends off one by one and prolong what he considers the game.” He kicked a couple of rocks out of his way, ducking beneath the boughs of a leafy tree. “From what he said to you, he’s got something else going on right now, and it’s probably the heroin. Once that’s taken care of, he will come.”

  “You think he was buying himself some time?” Wolfe asked.

  Force nodded. “Yeah. You spent all day fighting with Dana about protective custody, and if you’d succeeded, you would’ve spent at least the next day or two making sure the arrangements were up to snuff and getting her to cooperate.”

  Yeah, that did make sense. “So you think she’s safe?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Rockcliff is crazy, and from the autopsy report on Candy Folks, he likes to kill. Gets off on it. That kind of a compulsion won’t be tamped down for long.”

  Wolfe’s hand clenched into a fist. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”

  “I wouldn’t. You need full truth, and I expect the same.” Force turned the corner onto a street that still had people mingling at this early hour. Closed businesses lined one side and apartment buildings the other. They were brick buildings with established trees; many held pots of flowers or plants on the wide balconies.

  Wolfe scouted the area. “Brigid disengaged the cameras across the street?”

  “Yep. Did it remotely, which I understand isn’t easy but was possible because of the systems involved.” Force turned onto a pebbled stone walkway, passed through a wrought-iron gate and strode between wings of the building to the front entrance, which was secured by a mesh security screened door in front of another locked door. “Should’ve brought Jethro. He can pick any lock.”

  That professor was becoming more interesting by the second. “We’re official,” Wolfe reminded him.

  “Kind of, anyway.” Force nodded. “Before we go in, what are you prepared to do to make Spanek give up Theresa Rhodes?”

  Wolfe stilled. “Anything I need to do. Is that a problem?”

  “Nope. Just want to know before we go in.” Force pressed the button for the manager. Twice.

  “What?” a cranky male with a Middle Eastern accent barked through the speaker.

  “Homeland Defense Department,” Force said. “Come and open the doors. Now.”

  The guy spouted a stream of Pashto, the grumbling getting creative.

  Wolfe leaned toward the speaker and spoke a Pashto greeting, apologizing for the late disturbance and promising that they’d be gone soon.

  The guy stopped complaining and then the speaker went dead.

  Force nodded. “Nice. What language was that?”

  “Pashto. I learned it in Afghanistan.” Wolfe rolled his neck and looked down at his shiny badge. “I keep forgetting we have badges.”

  The door opened, and a potbellied man in a white tank top, his thick hair messy, shoved open the door. “What do you want?”

  “We’d like to visit the occupant in apartment 3D,” Force said pleasantly. “Would you mind letting us in?”

  “Got a warrant?” the guy asked.

  Wolfe put on his most pleasant expression. “We do not, but we could get one if necessary.” That was a total lie unless they wanted their HDD handlers to know what they were working on. “We just want to speak to the tenant and won’t cause any more disturbance.”

  The guy looked him up and down. “You were the one speaking Pashto?”

  “Oh, oke,” Wolfe said in Pashto.

  The man stepped back. “Sam da.”

  Wolfe nudged Force. “He said okay.” They moved into a dimly lit welcome area with a couple of tables and chairs set to one side.

  The man shut and relocked the door. “I am not opening his door for you.”

  “We’ll take it from here,” Wolfe said. “Manana,” he added, thanking the super and striding for the stairwell next to the elevator. He climbed up to the third floor and pushed open the heavy door. “Did you bring handcuffs?”

  “Zip ties,” Force said, on his six. “After we’re done talking to Spanek, we’ll need to put him into protective custody if he gives up information on Theresa Rhodes and Gary Rockcliff. We’ll have to go completely official at that point, just so you know.”

  One of the many reasons Wolfe hadn’t wanted to involve the team. “Understood,” he said, reaching the door to 3D, a clean wooden door whitewashed to a shabby-chic look like the rest of the doors down the hall. He pulled leather gloves from his jacket to cover his hands while Force did the same. “I prefer boot to knocking. Any argument?”

  “Nope. Kick ahead.” Force paused and reached for the doorknob, which twisted easily. He looked over his shoulder at Wolfe. “That’s not good.”

  Wolfe shook his head, adrenaline surging through his veins and sharpening his senses. “I go low.”

  Force silently pushed the door open to reveal darkness. “Go,” he mouthed.

  Wolfe shot inside, his gun already out and pointed, Force behind him and to the right. No sound, no movement. Just darkness and a smell that hit him harder than a right cross. He coughed out almost silently, his eyes watering. Metal, blood, and death. Ripped flesh had its own scent.

  Force shut the door and flipped on the light to reveal the living room. “Holy fuck.”

  Blood splatter coated the walls, the floor, and even parts of the ceiling. One nude body, a male, hung halfway across the sofa, his face partially turned toward them, his visible eye bloody in death.

  Wolfe swallowed down puke. “That’s Spanek.” The guy was barely recognizable from his photo with cuts all over his face and body, some deep, some surface. He stepped over still fresh pools of blood, shutting down all emotion to partially turn and look through the barely open doorway to what had been the master bedroom. “Jesus,” he breathed at seeing the dead woman inside.

  Force approached from his left and looked past him. “Any idea who she is?”

  “No. Must’ve been with Spanek when Rock got here.” Gary had gone to town on her face with more cuts than Wolfe could count, and that
didn’t take into account the swelling and bruising. A purplish hand mark marred her neck. She was nude, spread-eagled, and definitely dead. Blood pooled all around her, soaking through the bedclothes.

  “Okay.” Force exhaled loudly, no doubt trying to stay in control. “Let’s gather what information we can and get out of here before calling it in.” He nudged the door open with his gloved hand.

  Something clicked.

  Wolfe stiffened, grabbed Force by the arms and started running for the exit. “Go!” They hit the doorway just as a wave of heat smashed into them, throwing them into the wall on the other side of the hall. Wolfe impacted headfirst and dropped, smoke filling his lungs.

  “Force,” he croaked. Then darkness claimed him, cold and empty.

  * * *

  Thrumming pain and swirling lights jerked Wolfe from the darkness. He freaked, striking out, finding himself on a stretcher being carried through the heated night.

  “Whoa. Take it easy, big guy,” said a male voice.

  “Get the hell off me.” Wolfe shoved his legs to the side and pushed away from the stretcher, landing on his feet. His head spun. He couldn’t see anything and furiously wiped at his eyes until they cleared. His stomach heaved, and he bent over, losing what dinner he still had left.

  Sounds roared in. Sirens, boots running, people over radios talking. What had happened?

  He lifted his head and focused on Angus Force sitting in the back of a nearby ambulance, an oxygen mask covering his nose and a blanket around his shoulders.

  Force tugged the mask off, his face layered in soot. “You covered me with your body, asshole.” He tossed off the blanket and struggled to step down.

  “Wait,” the same voice said as before. “We’ll bring him to you.” A tightly muscled paramedic who looked about eighteen shot an arm beneath Wolfe’s shoulders and helped him up. “Let’s at least check out your head.” He assisted Wolfe over to sit by Force, grunting on the way.

  Pain burrowed through Wolfe’s solar plexus, and his ears rang, but he sat by Force as firefighters and police personnel ran around. “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Not as bad as you. Don’t ever do that again.” Force leaned to the side and coughed hard enough to dislodge a lung.

  The paramedic ducked and pointed a penlight into Wolfe’s eyes.

  Agony pierced his brain. Wolfe slapped the penlight away. “I’m fine. Go make sure there aren’t other wounded.” The blast had been fairly localized, it seemed, so hopefully nobody else had been injured. “Guess Gary wanted to sanitize the crime scene.” He coughed, trying not to cry when his ribs protested vehemently.

  Force groaned. “Yeah. He’s probably tying off loose ends and appeasing his need to kill on the way to you. Frank Spanek didn’t have a chance.”

  Wolfe’s head would fall off if he tried to turn it, so he didn’t move. The image of the dead woman flashed across his mind. “Have you ever seen something like that?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately,” Force grunted. “I’ve chased my share of serial murderers, and more than a couple of them were really sick jerks.” He glanced toward the building and then stiffened. “Ah, fuck.”

  Wolfe’s eyeballs wanted to roll from his head, but he looked up anyway to see their HDD handlers maneuvering around firefighting equipment and emergency personnel to reach them. “Can I just shoot them?”

  “Too many witnesses,” Force said, the sound strained.

  Agent Kurt Fields reached them first, his normal limp more pronounced than usual. Soot dotted the time-worn brown suit that went perfectly with his shaggy brown hair and beard, streaked with gray. He was in his late fifties and gave Wolfe the impression that he just wanted to retire. “You guys okay?”

  “Great,” Force growled.

  Agent Tom Rutherford, careful of his expensive, shiny shoes, stepped over a hose to reach them, his thousand-dollar navy-blue suit as out of place in the crime scene as a ballet dancer would’ve been. Somehow, soot didn’t mar his smooth blond hair or his angled face. His blue eyes narrowed. “What has your crazy unit done now?”

  Wolfe swallowed ash and grit, trying to wet his mouth so he could speak. “Your nose healed nicely.” He hadn’t seen the agent since Raider had broken his nose and given him two black eyes.

  Rutherford’s head lifted. “This is going to shut you down for good. Now, what happened?”

  Wolfe tried to make a fist, just in case he should break Rutherford’s nose again, but his fingers weren’t working properly. The ringing kept buzzing between his ears, and his vision wavered again.

  Force remained slouched against the stretcher, part of his left pant leg burned away. “We got a tip, an anonymous one, that the guy in 3D was trafficking heroin. The tip seemed sketchy, so we decided to check it out on the way home tonight and not bother you experts in the HDD until we had more information.”

  That did sound good, considering Spanek had been in the heroin game.

  “That sounds like horseshit,” Rutherford said, red tinging his ambitious cheekbones. “Did you have a warrant?”

  “Didn’t need one,” Force said, wincing and pressing a hand to his rib cage. “We knocked on the door, politely asked to visit a guy named Frank Spanek in 3D and were granted access. We’d just reached the door when the world exploded.”

  “There are body parts,” Fields said, reaching in his pocket for a piece of candy.

  Yeah, there were probably a lot of body parts. “Wow. Really?” Wolfe asked. “We didn’t make it inside.” There was no need to involve these guys, especially since they’d drag Wolfe down to headquarters to answer a bunch of questions he had no intention of answering.

  “You’re coming downtown,” Rutherford snapped.

  “Nope.” Force stepped down to the ground. He wavered, set a hand on the ambulance, and ducked his head, his eyes shutting and his lips pressed together as he rode out what looked like a tidal wave of pain. Finally, he straightened, his face stark white beneath his tan. “We’re regrouping tonight and will be available tomorrow if you’d like to come by the office. Wolfe can bring lattes.”

  “You don’t get sprinkles,” Wolfe grunted. Could he climb down without passing out again?

  Fields appraised him. “I think you two should seek medical attention.” He crunched on the candy.

  Wolfe pushed off the ambulance to stand, his legs shaking. “It’s not my first concussion. We’ll be okay.” Pain howled through him, but he turned and limped toward the sidewalk with Force at his side.

  “Do you think we’re gonna make it all the way to my truck?” Force wheezed, when they were out of earshot.

  “Don’t have to,” Wolfe groaned. “We just need to get out of their sight.”

  “Good plan.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A noise awakened Dana around dawn, and she immediately sat up in Wolfe’s bed, going on full alert.

  “It’s me,” Wolfe whispered from the other room.

  She turned and fumbled for the lamp on the bed table, illuminating the bedroom. “Where have you been?” she whispered back, even though nobody else was in the house.

  He limped through the door, grimacing as if every step was agony.

  She took one look at him and grabbed her throat, her head dropping forward as she stared. “What happened?” Soot mixed with blood on the side of his face, and parts of his clothing appeared to have been on fire. She hastened to him, careful not to touch anywhere. “You need a doctor.”

  “I need a shower.” He stumbled into the bathroom, pausing near the sink to sway in place. Moonlight streamed through the skylight high above, illuminating his injuries.

  She braced her feet so she could catch him if needed. “Wolfe.” She didn’t know what else to say. Was he still mad at her? Should she apologize?

  He reached for the hem of his shirt and then moaned.

  “Let me.” Skirting him, she gently pulled up his ruined shirt, wincing at the bruises already forming across his inflexible chest. Smoke and soot tickled
her nose, and she sneezed.

  “Bless you.” His head dropped, and debris fell from his hair.

  “Thanks.” She needed to talk him into seeing a doctor. “Is Angus all right?”

  Wolfe deftly removed the gun and holster from his thigh and set them on the counter. “Yeah, he’s okay. Busted up a little bit, but he’ll be fine in a couple of days. Maybe by tomorrow.”

  That was good. “How bad is your head?” She released the button of his jeans and unzipped them, sliding them down his legs with as much care as she could. “Oh. Your boots.” Her fingers clumsy, she untied them and held on to the first one, which had to be a size sixteen. “Step out.”

  He did, not making a sound. Even so, his pain was palpable.

  She helped him with the other boot and then out of the jeans and boxer-briefs. Even those had a burn hole along the side. “Were you in a fire?”

  “Bomb.” He turned and reached into the shower to turn the knob. Steam rose. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  She faltered. “You’ll need help in the shower.”

  “No. I just need a minute. You and I have a discussion coming, and I’m not ready.” His gaze held both pain and what looked like anger? “I could use about a hundred aspirin and a warm brandy, if you’re looking for something to do.”

  “Okay.” She understood the need to gather oneself after an ordeal and ducked to retrieve his discarded clothing.

  He lumbered into the dark-tiled shower, his usual grace gone. “Throw those away, would you? I don’t want to look at them again.”

  It was a good thing, because the clothes were ruined. She hurried from the bathroom, threw away the clothing, and then warmed some brandy for him over the stove and heated a casserole from Pippa in the microwave. It was a healthy chicken, veggie, and noodle recipe that she made just for Wolfe, apparently.

  The sky started to lighten outside. She wrung her hands and looked for something to do. Roscoe’s bowl was full, as was Kat’s, and both animals were sleeping on the sofa. Roscoe looked her way, apparently decided all was okay, and went back to sleep.