Colby Justice

by Debra Webb

  “Step away from the wall,” he ordered his prisoner.

  “They will kill you.”

  “They’ll try,” Ben said. “Take off your clothes and make it fast.”

  Fury tightened the man’s lips but he didn’t argue. Boots came off first, then the shirt, utility belt and trousers. The mask was dead last. Dark eyes. Blond hair. Damned freckles dotting his cheeks and nose.

  Not much more than a kid. Twenty-two or-three tops.

  “Facedown on the floor.” Ben waved the gun under his nose to remind him who was in charge.

  “What’s the problem?” the too young guy baited. “You can’t shoot a guy while looking him in the eye.”

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ben repeated. “Down.”

  The guy went down onto all fours, then reluctantly dropped flat on the tile floor.

  “Hands behind your back,” Ben instructed as he shrugged off the pack. Without taking his eyes away from his prisoner, he lowered himself to his knees at the guy’s side. He placed the enemy’s com link aside and fished the suit tape from the pack. With his teeth he pulled the end of the tape loose from the roll then one-handed, pulled the first loop around his prisoner’s hands.

  Not until he had a second loop did he dare to lay his weapon in the center of the guy’s back so that both hands were free. He secured the jerk’s hands tightly, then did the same with the ankles, finally attaching the two in such a way that it would be impossible for his prisoner to stand much less attempt a getaway. Lastly he placed a strip over his mouth.

  Ben quickly peeled off his suit and pulled on his prisoner’s discarded black uniform. The boots were tight as hell and the trousers were barely long enough to tuck into the boots, but it would work. He placed the enemy’s communication link on his collar and his weapon in the holster. Good to go.

  Poking his own weapon into the back of the utility belt, Ben retrieved the earpiece from his pack and shoved it into his pocket. Before he headed out the door he donned the mask, then snagged the tape and shoved it into the cargo pocket on the right trouser leg. It just might come in handy when he got his hands on the second guy.

  After a check of the corridor, Ben moved toward the office of the savings and loan president. He hesitated outside the door and listened.

  “Now take off the bra,” a male voice ordered.

  Adrenaline crashed into Ben’s arteries.

  He wanted to rush in there and beat the hell out of the guy.

  But he had to think. The bastard could have a weapon trained on Alexander. He could fire that weapon. His com link could be open.

  Though the latter was doubtful, considering what he was up to.

  “Hardin! Where the hell are you?”

  Ben tensed. The question had come from the com link on his collar. Too loud.

  The silence that lapsed in the room told him the other guy had heard the question as well.

  “Cates!”

  This time the angry voice came from inside the room. The other guy’s com link.

  “Where the hell is Hardin?”

  “He’s on his way to you,” the guy in the room said, clearly too afraid of his superior to ignore the question no matter that he feared trouble was just outside the door. “Maybe he ran into trouble on the way there. I’ll check it out. I’m finished with the third floor.”

  “Report in as soon as you’ve found him,” the voice roared.

  More of that gut-twisting silence.

  “What’re you doing?”

  Alexander’s voice made Ben’s heart thump harder. She was warning him that the bastard in the room with her was on the move. Thank you, pretty lady.

  That she said nothing else—and the guy’s failure to respond told Ben that Alexander had likely gotten a lethal glare for her trouble.

  Ben leveled his weapon. Picked a spot that would be about eye level for the average guy.

  Then…nothing.

  Ben waited, his arm tense with holding his position.

  What the hell was this guy doing?

  “You want her,” the guy in the office with Alexander abruptly called out, “come and get her.”

  Seemed the guy had grown a brain, if not a backbone, in the past couple of minutes. He’d figured out Alexander wasn’t alone. And that it wasn’t his buddy Hardin in the corridor.

  Since Alexander didn’t call out another warning in the silence that followed, Ben had to assume the scumbag had a bead on her.

  Ben counted one…two…On three he swung around the door frame and filled the open doorway, his weapon leveled on the first thing that came into focus.

  Naked save for her bra and panties, Alexander served as a shield in front of the man holding the gun to her head.

  “Put down your weapon,” the man ordered, “or she dies.”

  Fear trickled into Ben’s veins. He immediately stanched the flow. “No problem,” he said, infusing uncertainty into his voice. “Just don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Ben dared to move a step forward.

  “Put it down!”

  Ben held his hands out, his weapon no longer aimed at the enemy. “Okay, okay.” Slowly, he bent his knees and lowered toward the floor. “I’m putting it down.” Careful not to take his eyes off the guy, he lowered the weapon in his hand to the floor. “We’re cool.” Even slower, he pushed back up, straightened his knees, keeping his hands up just far enough to maintain the guy’s confidence that surrender was his intent.

  “Come over here.” The guy hitched his head to his left. “Keep your hands up.”

  Ben moved forward, careful to keep his back to the wall and away from the man’s watchful gaze.

  “Stop right there,” he said as Ben reached the edge of the big desk. “Facedown on the floor.

  “Pull the phone line loose,” he ordered Alexander as he pushed her away from him, “and tie him up.”

  Alexander removed the line from the back of the phone on the desk, then jerked it free from the wall. Ben lowered to his knees, hands still up, as she came around the desk, her eyes wide with fear.

  Ben waited until she was next to him before he flattened his hands on the floor and leaned forward. He wanted her to see the weapon at the small of his back but not until she stood between him and the bad guy. She needed to see it first while simultaneously blocking the enemy’s view.

  Alexander dropped into a kneeling position, snagged the weapon and tucked it between her knees and Ben’s side as she pretended to prepare his hands for securing together.

  “Do it right,” the enemy ordered. “Or I’ll just shoot you both right here.”

  Ben kept his attention fully on the guy, despite the pulsing desire to look at Alexander…to somehow reassure her with his eyes.

  When she’d loosely tied Ben’s hands, she turned back to the man with the gun. “Is this okay?” She shrugged. “I’m not that good at this sort of thing.”

  When he stepped to the edge of the desk to see over her, she grabbed the weapon at her knees with both hands and pointed it at his masked face.

  “Put your gun down,” she ordered as she pushed to her feet.

  “No way.” He shook his head and shifted his aim to Ben. “I’ll shoot him before you can work up the nerve to even think about pulling the trigger.”

  “Maybe.” She took a challenging step toward him. “But then your friends will know something’s going on down here and they’ll find out what you’ve been up to behind their backs.”

  “Stop right there!” he warned.

  “Or what?” She stepped between him and Ben. “You’ll shoot? I don’t think you will. You want to live through this day so you can spend all that money waiting for you. You could care less about your buddy Hardin, but the guys upstairs, you can’t afford to rub them the wrong way until you’re out of here.”

  She was going too far with the attitude. Ben wiggled his hands free from her loose bindings. He had to be ready to intervene…they could use this guy.

  “Don’t k
ill him,” Ben suggested, “he could help us.”

  The bad guy dared to look from Alexander to Ben.

  “He’s worthless,” she argued.

  Enough with the good-cop/bad-cop game. “Listen to me, Alexander,” Ben urged. “He has access to the fourth floor. He can help us.”

  “What about the fourth floor?” Suspicion weighted with skepticism colored the guy’s tone.

  Ben made a decision. One he hoped he wouldn’t die regretting. “We’re here to rescue the head of the Colby Agency. We don’t care about the others or the money you’ve stolen. Or even who helped you. You help us get access to the fourth floor and you and your friend can disappear. No questions. No trouble.”

  “Where’s Hardin?”

  “In the ladies’ room on the floor. He’s tied up but unharmed.”

  “How do I know you’ll honor your deal?” he countered, his scrutiny lingering a little too long on Alexander’s near naked body. “She lied to me. How can I know what you’re saying now is the truth?”

  “You’ll have to trust me, Cates,” Alexander tossed out. She shot Ben a look. “Trust is the key element in any relationship or business deal.”

  Ben ignored the jab. “You’ll keep your weapon,” he explained as he pushed up to his knees. The guy’s eyes widened with surprise. “If you feel like we’re not living up to our end of the bargain, you can use it. How’s that for a good deal?”

  “If they figure out something’s up,” the bad guy said, “we’ll all be dead.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re not going to let that happen.”

  Ben moved in close to Alexander. “Give me the weapon and get your suit back on.”

  Without shifting her aim or lowering the barrel, she allowed Ben to take possession of the gun.

  “So what’s your plan?” the guy asked, clearly growing nervous with the passage of time.

  “You take Alexander to the fourth floor. Tell your superior that you found her attempting to obtain access to the savings and loan. She injured Hardin, left him unconscious and secured. You turn Alexander over to your boss, and rush back down to help your fallen comrade. The two of you get out of the building while we take care of our business. You’ll have your money, and we’ll do what we came here to do.”

  “There’s five armed men up there,” Cates said, his tone dubious. “Three in the conference room, one at the entrance to each stairwell. How can you possibly expect to take all five alone? And where the hell will you be when I’m turning over your woman?”

  His woman.

  Ben ignored the way his gut knotted at the thought. “I’ll be watching from a chosen vantage point. You don’t need to worry about me. Our mission has nothing to do with you and your friend’s extracurricular activities. All we need is access to the fourth floor.”

  The seconds ticked off with Ben and the other man standing there, weapons trained on each other.

  “What if Pederson sends someone down with me to check on Hardin?”

  The sound of the zipper on Alexander’s suit momentarily distracted Ben. He banished the vivid mental images of her toned body. All that creamy skin. Black panties and bra…flaming red hair flowing over her shoulders.

  Focus, damn it.

  “Then that leaves one less on the fourth floor for me to deal with. I’m certain you can come up with a diversion for anyone who tags along with you.” In other words, that was his problem. “You might even suggest that you and another of your colleagues should make sure there are no other intruders lurking about. You think you can handle that?”

  “I can’t guarantee anything more than access,” the man hedged.

  Good enough.

  “Ready.” Alexander moved up beside Ben.

  Good girl. She had picked up the weapon Ben had left on the floor. She’d learned a hell of a lot in the past few hours. There weren’t a lot of places she could hide it wearing that suit. As if she’d read his mind, she passed it to Ben.

  “Do we have an agreement then?” Ben demanded, needing confirmation. Time was wasting.

  Cates reached for his collar with his free hand.

  Ben tensed, snugged his finger against the trigger of his weapon.

  “We have a problem,” Cates said aloud.

  “You find Hardin?” a male voice asked.

  “Not yet,” Cates responded, his voice reflecting concern, “but I’ve intercepted and detained an intruder. I’m bringing her up.”

  The triumphant sensation Ben had expected upon hearing that Cates would cooperate didn’t come.

  This was going down.

  And Alexander was the decoy…the bait.

  Her life…as well as those of the others in that conference room on the fourth floor…was in his hands. If he failed…

  “You’re bringing her here?” Cates’s superior demanded.

  Ben’s tension ratcheted up.

  “Unless you want me to kill her,” Cates offered. “I’ll do whatever you say. I just figured you might want to interrogate her. Figure out what the hell she’s doing here. Hell, I’m still trying to get her to tell me how she got in. She’s not cooperating at all.”

  A nasty chuckle echoed from the com link. “Bring her to me. She’ll talk.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cates closed the link, his gaze connected with Ben’s. “I hope you’ve got one hell of a plan because he will kill her whether she cooperates or not.”

  “I understand the risks.” There was nothing else Ben could say. Nothing else he could do.

  This was their only option.

  He pointed to Cates’s collar where the com link rested. “Why the left side of the collar?”

  Cates shrugged. “Those were the instructions we received when we prepared for this job.” He reached up as if to touch the link. “Besides, if you’re right-handed it makes sense.”

  “So the entire team used the left side of the collar for positioning the communications link?”

  Cates nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Move it to the right,” Ben ordered.

  “Why?”

  “So we’ll be able to recognize you.” Ben rested his hand on the butt of the weapon at his waist. “I wouldn’t want to shoot you by accident.”

  Cates did as he was told. “You know,” he said, looking from Ben to Alexander and back, “the two of you act like you really believe you’re not only going to survive but that you’re going to complete your mission.” He shook his head. “Pederson isn’t going to make any deals with you.”

  He headed for the door. “He’s going to kill you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Inside the Colby Agency, 3:40 p.m.

  Gordon had tried to escape.

  Victoria couldn’t help feeling sorry for the man, no matter his crimes. When Thorp had insisted, he had begun confessing his sins. Then Gordon had jumped up from his chair and made a run for the door.

  One of the four terrorists in the room had wrestled him back to his chair. Gordon had spent long minutes stacking the files from the box into what he insisted was an organized flow. He claimed he couldn’t accurately address his professional decisions and ethics until he settled on a starting place. Thorp had remained patient thus far. Victoria suspected this was his way of allowing Gordon’s tension to build. Thorp wanted both Gordon and Clark to suffer as long as possible before being put out of their misery.

  Across the table from her, Reginald Clark’s head lolled as if he were having trouble staying awake. The gag had kept him silent. Now and again the guard stationed behind him would bop him in the back of the head to keep him awake. Each time, Victoria flinched, and prayed that help would arrive soon.

  Incredibly, to some extent it was easier for Victoria to dredge up sympathy for the cold-blooded killer than it was to find compassion for Gordon.

  Life and all its wondrous gifts had been served up to Cook County’s former district attorney since the day he was born. From a wealthy family, he’d been reared in privilege. The best universities in the count
ry had opened their doors in welcome. He’d only had to choose one and show up. His ex-wife had brought another stream of wealth into his already blessed life. The divorce had only come once the book deal was imminent, leaving Gordon to retire in the style to which he had become accustomed—and free to pursue younger companions.

  A universe away was Clark’s tragic history. Left to his own devices by an absent father and a desperate mother, he’d climbed to the top of the mountain of least resistance. Why bother with occupational training or an education, both of which would have been available at little or no cost, when there was a far less complicated path with far more instant gratification.

  As a street thug, he didn’t have to worry about being jeered at by his peers, or about meeting the expectations of teachers or superiors. All he had to do was maintain a ruthless attitude. And kill anyone who stepped on his toes or got in his way.

  Both men had succeeded. Each had ultimately fallen into a life of crime. But Gordon had no excuse for his selfish, greedy decision. Not that Clark’s was excuse either, but the facts did make his dossier somewhat more understandable.

  Gordon was certainly as guilty of murder and numerous other heinous crimes as Clark in Victoria’s opinion. The law would have various names for it—accessory to the act, impeding justice, and others.

  But neither man deserved to die this day under this mockery of justice.

  No one understood the need for vengeance better than Victoria. But that, as she herself had been forced to come to terms with, was wrong no matter how one rationalized the horrific act.

  “Need I remind you that we’re waiting, Gordon?” Thorp prodded. “Dragging your feet will not change how today will end.”

  Gordon looked up, sweat sliding down his pale cheeks. “I believe I’m ready to begin.”

  If Gordon regaled them with his prosecution history for the next hour or so, would that be enough time for Victoria’s people to accomplish a rescue scenario? She’d hoped someone would be inside by now. But the terrorists assigned to patrol duty did not appear to have encountered any indication that an infiltration had taken place.