Zero Escape

by Kendall Talbot

  “I know you’re still there. So here’s the final instructions. You’re going to drive to the theme park alone, and you’ll have a million dollars with you.”

  A jolt raced through Noah at that final comment. If this was about money, then it was an easy solve. Not that he had any intention of handing over a cent.

  “Repeat it!”

  Noah repeated the instructions, and when the man abruptly hung up, Noah hurled his crystal tumbler at the windows, and it smashed it into dozens of shards, spraying the golden liquid onto his white carpet.

  He stood and paced the floor. Once again, he’d been caught off guard. It was like a switch had been flicked to trigger any and all attempts to crucify him. But he was a fighter. He’d crawled out of tough situations before. He was going to stride out of this one.

  He placed a call to his pilot, and they went through the infuriatingly repetitive haggle to agree on a price. Once that was done, he strode to his safe, punched in the combination, and removed his Ruger LCP II and two magazines. He didn’t need his holster this time. One of the most appealing aspects about this weapon was that he could conceal it in his coat pocket.

  Neither Claudia nor her conspiratorial accomplice will see what’s coming at them.

  Noah rarely traveled in rush-hour traffic, and he hated that he’d been forced to do it today. He settled into the back seat of his limo on the way to JFK and used the solitude to clear his mind and focus solely on the situation at hand. The entire journey was consumed with an inner debate over whether or not the new blackmailer had been bluffing about video footage of him shooting Stella. He mentally listed the facts.

  The remote Cuban airstrip had been dark.

  If the supposed footage was taken by the couple he’d seen running into the bushes, then they were positioned at a significant distance from where the plane landed. Footage, if there was any, would be of poor quality.

  For them to have captured him actually shooting Stella, they would have needed to be positioned at the perfect angle to cover the entire scene.

  Halfway to JFK, his brain stammered to a conclusion. It was highly likely they were bluffing.

  That led to his next question.

  Was money their ultimate intention?

  The blackmailer said Claudia wanted to meet him. Why on earth she’d want to do that was beyond Noah. Maybe she wanted to admire her bloodline. Maybe she wanted to get a confession from him. He huffed. If they did secretly record the conversation, it would be deemed inadmissible in a court of law anyway. So that was the least of his worries.

  He squeezed his hand around the butt of his weapon. The stupid fools were leading him to an abandoned amusement park, and that would make it all too easy for him to kill them both.

  He hoped they were recording the meeting. It would provide him with interesting viewing afterward.

  But he had to be careful. Whoever these two were, they’d taken down eight Cubans and his guards to get away last time.

  All it took was one bullet. Noah wouldn’t miss this time.

  The pilot greeted Noah with a million-dollar smile that Noah wanted to slap right off his face. To top that off, the greedy bastard had insisted Noah show him proof of the electronic transfer before he could board the plan. Noah decided there and then that this would be the pilot’s last job for him.

  Noah buckled into his seat, and before the plane was even airborne, a headache was beginning to burn at the back of his eyes. After swallowing two painkillers, he squeezed his eyes closed and forced his mind to recuperate for the duration of the flight.

  A high-pitched squeal cut through the silence, and Noah jolted upright. To his surprise, he’d actually fallen asleep, and the sound that had woken him was the jet’s tires touching down at Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport. He shook himself awake and strode to the bathroom.

  When he glanced in the mirror, he was appalled at his reflection. Noah always prided himself on his appearance. Now, though, his face had a hideous pallid hue, and dark smudges surrounded his eyes. He hated that he’d let the stress get to him. He was good at stress. Thrived on it. But this mess was hitting depths he’d never considered possible. For the first time in his life, he was nervous, and he hated that the caller had produced that emotion in him.

  Fighting the urge to punch the mirror, he splashed water on his face, straightened his shoulders, and planted the confident expression on his face that he’d projected over a thousand times in the courtroom.

  By the time he stepped from the bathroom, he was riding a new high at the prospect that he was about to experience another life-changing event that was destined to eclipse the previous two.

  He returned to his seat, glanced at his watch, and was pleased he still had two hours and twenty minutes until the dictated meeting time. According to his research, the drive from the airport to Six Flags New Orleans would take just thirty-two minutes. That gave him enough time to set a trap for Claudia and her accomplice.

  In the leather seat beside him was his briefcase containing two hundred thousand dollars. It was everything he’d had in his safe, but if the blackmailer had given him more time, Noah could have fulfilled the requested demand.

  Not that it was relevant.

  He had no intention of giving them anything . . . other than early funerals.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Charlene didn’t think she’d ever return to New Orleans. Not after the horror she’d experienced there. But after Marshall had talked her through his plan, it made perfect sense to return to where it all started for her and, in particular, to involve Detective Chapel again. Especially after what Alejandro, the Cuban police officer, had told Marshall on the phone. Her heart had simultaneously skipped a beat and cried at that news. The implications of it were shocking, and yet it was also exactly what they needed.

  Despite falling asleep in Marshall’s arms, she’d barely slept that night. It was impossible to shut her mind down from the possibility that within twenty-four hours, she’d be standing face-to-face with the monster who killed her mother.

  But she needed to do it.

  She’d seen Noah on television many times, touting his case for innocent victims. He seemed intelligent and dignified, yet something had happened twenty-odd years ago that made him a murderer. Her mind replayed that moment when Peter had whisked her away from her mother. Her screams for her mom had been drowned out by the roar of the plane. The last image she had of her mother was of a beautiful, distraught woman with tears streaming down her cheeks and fear blazing across her eyes.

  Charlene had to know if her escape was the reason Noah had strangled her mother.

  After Marshall had made the call to Noah, he’d moved to a safe that was concealed beneath the floorboards and removed a shoebox-sized case. When he’d opened it, he’d glanced at Charlene. Inside was the biggest handgun she’d ever seen.

  “Want to change your mind?” he’d said.

  She’d dragged her gaze from the weapon and glared into Marshall’s pleading eyes. “No.”

  Nothing was going to change her mind.

  Marshall spent the remainder of the evening trying to talk her out of it. But she wouldn’t back down. Couldn’t. If she didn’t get that closure, she would be forever wondering why. Marshall had pointed out that Noah might have killed her mother simply because he was a madman. And given how easily he’d shot that woman in Cuba, that was potentially true.

  However, Charlene didn’t buy it.

  Their morning had been consumed with packing an overnight bag and Marshall’s nonstop attempts to talk her out of meeting with Noah. On the way to the airport, Marshall dropped into a store, and they purchased some fancy-looking surveillance equipment, which, unlike the gun case, they’d packed into their hand luggage.

  During the flight from Key West to New Orleans, they’d unpacked and examined the camera and microphone. Marshall had explained to her that the footage would be inadmissible in court. However, it was their backup plan. Should Noah
get away for some reason, the footage would find its way to all the tabloids in the country.

  However, Charlene had already decided that even if he was arrested and convicted, she’d still make sure the footage was released. Everybody needed to know what kind of monster he was. And from what she’d seen of Noah, that would be his worst nightmare.

  Everything seemed to be moving at breakneck speed. One minute they were planning the phone calls to Noah, then they were on the plane, and next they were driving the rental car through New Orleans.

  Ten minutes into the drive, Marshall pulled the car over at the first phone booth they found and placed his hand on her arm. “You okay?”

  The sincerity in his expression had her marveling once again at how lucky she was to have met Marshall. When Peter was torn from her life, she’d plummeted to the depths of what it meant to be truly alone. Now, though, with Marshall at her side, she felt like she was part of a team. Yet it was more than that . . . they were destined to be together. Her heart squeezed at that wonderful thought, and she placed her hand over his and met his gaze. “I just want this to work.”

  “It will.” Determination simmered in his stunning eyes.

  She climbed from the car, stepped into the phone booth, and dialed one of the few phone numbers she’d ever memorized. It rang only once.

  “Detective Chapel.” His voice was gruff.

  “Hello, Detective, it’s Charlene Bailey.”

  “Charlene. Where the hell have you been? We’ve been looking for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I had some things to attend to.”

  “God, girl, you could’ve let me know. I’ve been going out of my mind.”

  Her guilt elevated a few notches. “I’m so sorry about that. Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me.”

  “You know I will.”

  “Thank you. Can you please meet me at Six Flags New Orleans at three o’clock today?”

  Her request was met with a silent beat.

  “Charlene, what are you up to?”

  “It’s . . . it’s involved. I’ll tell you once you get there. Can you do that?”

  “Why don’t you come into the station. We can—”

  “No!” She didn’t mean to sound so forceful. “I . . . I can’t. Please! Just meet us there at three.”

  “Us?”

  “Can you do that, please?” She ignored his implied question.

  “You know that theme park is derelict, right?”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Charlene . . .”

  The way he said it, with a pleading lilt, had the vein in her neck pulsing. “I’ll see you there, Detective.” She hung up the phone and returned to the rental car.

  “All good?” Marshall raised his eyebrows.

  She nodded. “He tried to talk me out of it. Wanted me to go to the station instead.”

  “He sounds like a good man.” Marshall put the car into gear and nudged them back into the bustling New Orleans traffic.

  Forty-five minutes later, they drove through the dilapidated parking lot that once had been filled with hundreds of cars. The six flags were long gone, and just the bare flagpoles marked the entrance. Marshall aimed for the poles, which were positioned atop the building that contained the ticket booths. He skirted that building, drove through a couple of gates that were barely hanging on by a hinge, and entered the main street of the abandoned theme park.

  Marshall dodged debris as he slowly drove the car to the end of the street and parked out of sight between the crumbling Ferris wheel and what was left of the merry-go-round. They climbed out, and the wind whistling through the rusted rides had her looking up at the giant wheel. A healthy ivy plant had made the struts its home, covering the once colorfully decorated seats in a living macramé.

  The trunk popped up, and she moved to the back of the car to help Marshall with their equipment. He slammed the trunk shut, and they walked through the ramshackle central street, back toward the entrance.

  They strode past a giant clown’s head that had toppled sideways to rest on its cheek. The clown’s nose was now a gaping hole, and only one eye was open. Charlene shuddered at the sight. She’d been in some pretty creepy places in her life. But this one quickly hit the top of that list. “Why’d you choose this place?”

  “It’s deserted.”

  “But how did you even know about it?”

  “I took a couple of guys out on a fishing charter who used to work here. They told me about it. They lost their jobs here when Hurricane Katrina flooded the park beneath seven feet of water for a month, and it never reopened.”

  “It’s a wonder nobody attempted to restore it.”

  He kicked a rusted can aside. “Too far gone, I’d say.”

  The colorful buildings lining the street must’ve been quite pretty prior to the flood, but the colors had dulled over the years, and plants and graffiti now covered the walls instead.

  The structures emitted creaks and groans as if sounding a warning. But they weren’t the only sounds. The wind howled through the shattered windows and doors like ghostly whispers, and Charlene’s mind jumped to the number of murders she’d witnessed in just a few months. Twelve people killed, right before her eyes. The first one being Peter. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe Noah had caused his murder too. It would be another question she’d ask the bastard.

  With each step she took toward the front entrance, her mind screamed at her to take Marshall’s hand and march away from all this stupidity.

  But at the same time, she couldn’t do that. She needed to follow through with this quest to get justice for her mother’s senseless murder and the world needed to know what a monster Noah Montgomery was. It suddenly occurred to her that Noah might not even turn up, and she glanced over at Marshall. “Do you think he’ll come?”

  “I know he’ll come.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Marshall eased into the shade of the ticketing building and seemed to scrutinize its structure. “He flew all the way to Cuba to kill you. Flying to New Orleans is nothing in comparison.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Thanks for reminding me.” She said it with the horror it deserved.

  He cocked his head. “Did you expect me to ignore it?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “No. I guess not.” It was impossible to comprehend that her own father wanted her dead. And she had no idea why. It was another question she’d ask him. She clenched her jaw and tried to push aside her uncertainty about what they were doing. This had to be done.

  Marshall reached for her hand. “He will never get his hands on you, Charlene. I promise.”

  Every ounce of her breath was taken with his concern, and she leaned into him. When Marshall wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, she knew that although their connection was still so young, it was very, very true. Marshall was the only sanity in a world that was filled with madness, and she hugged herself to him. The pounding of his heart instilled a strength within her that had been waning.

  No matter what happened, they would get through this. Together.

  He eased back a fraction and kissed her forehead. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm. Thought you’d say that. So help me get the gear sorted.”

  Marshall peeked into one ticket booth after the other and finally chose the fifth one. “This’ll do the job.” The door was secured by just one hinge, and Marshall grabbed it and yanked it free like it’d been held in place with Scotch Tape.

  Charlene peered into the booth while Marshall tossed the door aside. It was a tiny room, about twice the size of a standard shower. But unlike every other window she’d seen so far, the one in this booth was intact. A chair, missing all but one of its castors, was toppled on the floor, and assuming Marshall didn’t want it, she dragged it outside.

  Marshall stepped into the booth and ran his hand over the tiny counter, clearing it of debris and peeling paint. Then he peered out the wi
ndow and scanned the parking lot ahead. “This is perfect.”

  “Want me to clean the window?”

  “No, the less he can see of us, the better.” Marshall put the bag containing the surveillance equipment on the floor, unzipped it, and placed the bits and pieces on the tiny bench positioned in the gap beneath the window. He went to work setting it up.

  “What can I do?”

  “Pray.”

  “Very funny.”

  He turned to her, deadpan. “I wasn’t joking.” Marshall turned back to the equipment and cursed under his breath.

  She stepped from the room, and as she strolled down the street, studying the ghostly remnants of a once thriving theme park, her empty stomach twitched out a chilling warning. Yet she forced her brain to ignore it. For years, she’d wanted answers to what happened to her when she was a child. Now she had the what, hopefully she’d soon have the why.

  Her whole life was a lie. It was time for the truth.

  “Shit!” Marshall’s voice boomed from the booth.

  She spun to his voice. “What?”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Charlene ran to the booth and stepped inside. “Who?”

  “We’re about to find out. But I hope like hell it’s the cop, or we’re in deep shit.”

  Charlene peered through the dirty glass and watched a dust storm rise up from behind the approaching SUV like a demon.

  Marshall clenched his jaw as he unclipped his gun from the secure case and pushed the magazine in until it clipped.

  The car skidded on the gravel and pulled to a stop.

  The moment had arrived.

  Ever since she’d been informed that Peter wasn’t her father, she’d wondered who the man could be. Now, though, as she tried to see through the SUV’s black windows, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.

  Marshall spun to her, fierce determination blazing across his eyes. “No matter what happens, you stay behind me.”

  “Okay.”

  He clutched her wrist. “Say it, Charlene.”

  “I stay behind you.”