Joe’s fist clenched around the cell. “That’s not good enough. We need to find her.”
“We’re trying. But in the meantime, we’ve got two injured parents. A woman in labor. And a dead computer to fix. We’ll be in touch.”
The call cut.
Joe blinked at the dead receiver. The bastard had hung up on him. We’ll be in touch? Hell, no.
“I’m keeping this,” Joe said to Lilo.
It had Parker’s number in it, or someone’s.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. They do that to me sometimes too. They forget we normal people can help. We might not be special, like them, but we have old ways of doing things that have worked for centuries. Every bit counts, right?”
His gaze landed on the woman with respect. “You’re right. We do have old ways of doing things.”
He was an investigator, so he’d find out where Liza was taken his own way. And that started back at the precinct, and with the man who’d caused her suspension.
“Get your footage on the air—”
“Already done.”
“Good. I’m going to see the captain.” He would need backup.
Joe burst through the Cardinal City precinct doors and made a beeline for the captain’s office. Even with the hour being past eight, he knew the man would be there. He may have the personality of a shark, but Morais also never stopped swimming. If shit went down, he was here.
“We need to talk,” he said as he let himself in the office.
In his dress uniform, the captain looked up from his computer screen, sat back, and steepled his fingers.
“Shut the door,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
This could go two ways, but Joe plowed onward. He shut the door and sat down.
“I need access to the person who raised charges against Liza.”
Annoyance flashed in Morais’ eyes. “I just got off a call with your director.”
Fuck.
Joe rested back in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Already steeling himself against the admonishment he expected, he was surprised when Morais spoke.
“That bastard has the gall to tell me how to run my precinct.” Morais’ desk phone rang. He picked up the receiver, then slammed it down again.
“What did he say?” Joe ventured.
Morais studied him. “He said you were acting out of orders. Is that true?”
“I have reason to believe the man who pressed charges against Liza is tied to the terrorists, and to the Ripper killings.”
“The terrorists haven’t claimed affinity to a known terrorist cell.”
“I can tell you what they call themselves. The Syndicate. They’re all over the world, they have ties in law enforcement from the Pentagon down. Let’s just say there’s a reason why they haven’t been investigated yet. The white-robed lackeys are called the Faithful. They do the Syndicate’s grunt work and sow chaos.”
“Your boss says he’s got it under control.”
“If that were true, then why haven’t there been other Feds on the scene? Or Homeland. Anyone?”
Morais knew it was true. Joe could see it in his eyes. He also had the notion the man was not happy with the state of his city. He’d worked hard at reducing crime, with and without the Deadly Seven involved. So Joe took a stab. “I think you see what’s happening, and you hate it just as much as me.”
“What do you want?”
“The name and address of the man who pressed charges against Liza.”
“Why?”
“She’s missing.”
Morais’ eyes flashed. “You’re telling me this now? What happened?”
“That, I can’t reveal.”
A heavy sigh from the portly man. “Then, on the record, I can’t help you. Wait the allocated time and lodge a missing person’s report.”
Meaning off the record he had another option?
“She’s one of us,” Joe chided.
Morais paused, then unlocked his desk drawer before standing up. “I need a coffee. Be gone when I get back.”
Joe watched the man leave, and then quickly opened the drawer to look inside. As expected, there was the case file. He’d also left his laptop unlocked. Joe rifled through reports until he found what he needed. A statement, and an address.
When he left the office, he almost ran into Briggs.
“We heard what you said.”
Joe looked around the big man’s body and found they weren’t alone. Many of the local cops and detectives stood by.
“Liza’s missing?” Briggs asked.
Joe gave a curt nod.
Houlahan stepped forward. “What do you need, G-man?”
Joe felt a rush of warm relief and held up the name he’d scribbled down. “I need everything we can find on this man. Geoff has started, but I want to dig deeper. Add a man called Julius Allcott to the list. While you’re doing that, I’m going to pay Mr. Smith a visit.”
Two hours later, Joe walked away from Gareth Smith’s place with blood on his hands. Unfortunately, the man was unprepared to give up any information, which, in itself, was a certain admission of guilt. Joe had tried everything he could to get the man to speak. He had beat him bloody, broke his fingers, and threatened him with psychological manipulation—but he seemed prepared to die for his cause, and Joe wasn’t prepared to be a murderer. The only thing he squeezed out of Gareth was that he preferred to be called Quarry.
With no leads, Joe returned home alone. He considered visiting the hospital to check on Misha’s condition, but without Liza, it all seemed empty, just like his apartment as he crossed the threshold. Dark, open, and full of ghosts from the evening before. Breakfast dishes. Case files, reports, and pictures on the floor. His bed sheets would smell like her.
There was no way he’d sleep tonight.
Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he went to the case files on the floor and stared at them. What use were psychic sketches if they couldn’t tell him where Liza had been taken? He dashed his hand through the pile, spraying the leaflets over the floor. Then he sat down hard and put his head in his hands.
He couldn’t imagine a world without Liza. Just when he was getting used to her being infallible, this happened. Those people would use her as a lab rat. They’d drain her dry, or worse, turn her into the same sort of brainwashed killing machine as those Faithful who’d attacked in the street. And she’d given herself up to save Misha’s baby.
He’d have done the same thing. With nothing left to do, he collected the sketches on the floor and stacked them one on top of another. Some had shifted beneath the couch. He speared his arm beneath and fished around for the missing leaflets, but his fingers hit something glossy and hard. Like a box.
Frowning, he pulled it out.
It was a gift.
He turned the box over in his hands. How long had that been under there? Curious, he tore the paper off. He stopped breathing. It was their baseball mounted on an official stand, displayed in a glass memorabilia case. Liza had scrawled on the only remaining white patch of space I love you.
He wasn’t sure how long he stared at it. Long enough to cramp. Long enough for the coldness of night to seep into his bones. He wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and placed it gently to the side before collecting the last of the sketches.
I’m coming for you, Liza.
Turning his attention to the sketches, he noticed they featured women in pain. Faces. Beds. Pipes. Angry charcoal strokes. He squinted at a page, then stood, flicked on the light, and held it to see better. Was that... a conveyor belt in the background? Hooks on the wall? Cautious hope hit him. He rifled through other sketches and found more of the same.
He redialed Parker’s number on Lilo’s cell. He answered in two rings.
“Joe,” Parker said. “You have something?”
“Maybe. I need to speak with Evan. Does he have more of those sketches?”
A shuffling sound came down the line, and then Evan spoke. “My man, what do you need?”
“I’m looking at these drawings Liza brought over. The ones with the women. I’m noticing the hooks and something like a conveyor belt in the background. Liza said you dreamed these scenes, is that right?”
“Yes, I dream of them, but I don’t remember everything. Keep talking, maybe you’ll jog my memory.”
“It seems like an industrial place. Metal?”
Evan made a sound, something like a thoughtful grunt. “Yeah... sharp curved hooks were dangling from the ceiling... big metal corridors... plastic strips hanging from a ceiling.”
“Shit,” Joe murmured. “I think I know where it is.”
He shuffled reports until he found two things. One was Geoff’s and Brigg’s notes from interviewing the crazy woman at the shelter. She’d said she escaped from aliens who wanted to impregnate her, but... what if they weren’t aliens, but the Syndicate scientists?
He found the paragraph he needed. She’d said she come from the industrial area where they’d found the dead body. Joe quickly searched through the papers for the second thing. Gareth Smith’s rap sheet. His father had pressed charges because he’d lost his livelihood—a meatpacking plant.
“Joe?” Evan asked. “You got something?”
“Yeah. A meatpacking plant.” What’s the likelihood of a Smith family-owned and abandoned meatpacking plant in the industrial area? “Give me a few, and I might have an address.”
He cut the call and went to his room to find his laptop, but the room was still a mess of tangled sheets and Liza’s sweet scent. He ignored the pinch in his heart, got to his knees, and searched beneath the bed. There were vague memories of kicking it last night. He found his laptop and pulled it out when Lilo’s cell phone pinged.
Odd.
He checked the incoming message. It was from Sloan with two addresses of meatpacking plants in the city, and one out of town. Only one plant was abandoned. That had to be it. He let her know.
By the time he received a reply he was in his car, and on the road.
26
The sound of a helicopter woke Liza. Wind buffeted her face from the open cabin. She hadn’t been out for long. Across from her, Daisy’s empty gaze aimed outside, watching the lights of Cardinal City get smaller. Next to Liza, two black-clad soldiers held automatic rifles. A test on her hands revealed they were secured. From the feel of the tie, it ran up her entire forearm and cut into her skin at intervals... almost like they’d... she tested it gently but didn’t want to look over her shoulder. It would alert them to her wakefulness.
Her bindings felt like thin strips of plastic. Must be cable ties. Liza was strong. She could break out of a few, but not the amount they’d used. She would have to find a way to cut them.
Without moving her head, she inspected the length of her body. Her belt was still on, but the only weapons she had synced to her outfit were a grappling hook and two shuriken throwing stars at her hip. Both were most likely left on her because of the same reason she’d had trouble detaching her karambits. If she could get her wrists around to the shuriken without being noticed, she could set herself free.
If only she had Wyatt’s ability, she could smash through the ties... or Tony’s fire to melt the plastic, but she had poison. Her facemask was still stuffed into her mouth like a gag, and her new battle gloves covered her hands. Since Liza’s suit was non-responsive, she wasn’t sure if the intuitive valves would work. Her best bet was to get the ties cut, and the gloves off. If she tried to release poison now, it might get trapped, and Liza didn’t want to test whether her own body could take a concentrated dose of tetrodotoxin.
She kept a wary eye on Daisy and tried to wriggle her fingers out of the gloves, but they fit snugly. She shifted her hands to the side of her back and started to rub the cable ties against the shuriken, but when the helicopter started its descent, she knew time was running out.
They lowered into a big agricultural type yard. Fenced pens and runways led to industrial sheds and multiple giant two-story warehouses. The old stench of death filled the air, and since Liza could only breathe through her nose, it was sickening.
From the look of the rusty and old metal equipment sitting outside the warehouses and empty yards, the place was an abandoned abattoir and meatpacking plant.
Daisy took one of Liza’s elbows, and another soldier—the female—took Liza’s other. Once the chopper’s landing skids hit the ground, they dragged her out. The male soldier took up the rear, his rifle at the ready.
These weren’t untrained Faithful. They were seasoned soldiers, ex-military. Liza could tell by the way their eyes scoped for danger, even in their home territory. The woman had a hard face and piercing eyes. Her jaw remained stoically clenched. She would be of no help.
Two shadowed figures waited for them near one of the warehouse buildings. Light from a door cast a halo around their figures, but they were no angels. One, a scientist in a lab coat. The other, Julius Allcott. A devil’s castoff. Liza may not have met him before, but his features were recognizable. Handsome face, obstinate jaw, wide lips. He had all the Lazarus traits. Dressed in a designer suit, the man looked ridiculous in the dirty industrial setting. A silver chain twinkled around his neck, and a watch glinted at his wrist.
She wanted to punch the entitlement from his face.
A shove to Liza’s back knocked her to her knees.
“Where’s the pregnant one?” Julius demanded from Daisy.
“I couldn’t get her. This is the next best thing. Her DNA is unlocked.”
“You couldn’t what?” he roared, then threw up his hands and paced. “You’re useless. Fucking useless.”
Liza met her father’s eyes and mumbled loudly through her gag. He frowned and then flicked his finger at Daisy, who tugged the mask out of Liza’s mouth. She choked and gasped in air, then smirked.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“Lust,” he sneered.
“What’s the matter, no hello kiss?” She gave him her cheek.
Julius’ pale eyebrow arched. “I’m not stupid.”
She shrugged. It was worth a try. Besides, the shrug helped her move her bound hands closer to the shuriken. The cable tie touched the sharp, short blade.
She opened her mouth, already tasting the bitterness of her poison preparing. Daisy stuffed the mask back in Liza’s mouth and then the two soldiers gathered Liza under her arms and picked her up. She refused to walk, so her feet dragged behind them as they headed for the warehouse. It was better for them to be occupied and not notice that every jostle and bump cut more into her restraints. A couple more ties fell to the ground.
Inside the warehouse, stainless steel conveyors and machinery filled the room. No products or packing supplies, just old equipment.
With a hard grip, they wrenched her arms back and lifted her deadweight with a grunt of effort. She wasn’t going to make it easy on them. They dragged her beyond the rusty equipment and through a small corridor with cattle hooks on a ceiling railing and u-bars that were once filled with 400 volts of electricity.
In the next room, Liza couldn’t hide her astonishment and disgust. Hanging from the hooks on the ceiling conveyor weren’t animal carcasses, but human, covered in plastic, dead faces squished against the clear wrap like sausages. Her stomach revolted, her vision blurred, and it took all her resolve to hide her reaction. She refused to admit weakness.
Julius and his scientist companion stopped.
In the absence of footsteps, disturbing sounds filtered from somewhere. Two doors led from the room. One was solid metal with frost edging along the seam. Must be a refrigerated room. The other door was plain and filtered soft moans of people in pain. Julius studied Liza, pausing to contemplate.
“I think we’ll show her,” he said, almost jauntily, and then opened the cooler door.
He’s insane.
Inside, rows of halogen lights clicked on, illuminating the large room. They dragged Liza inside and dropped her to the cold concrete floor. She sagged the moment she hit the ground.
Replicate tanks filled with grown specimens filled the room. There had to be at least fifty.
Catching the astonishment on Liza’s face, Julius said, “These are only our test subjects. We have facilities around the globe storing more. With the stem cells we harvest from you, we’ll be able to finalize our designs and release the replicates. Our new world is imminent.”
He gestured at his scientist companion, who handed him a touch-screen device. Julius tapped his finger on the screen and activated something. He slid his eyes to Liza, like a child waiting for praise.
He sickened her. She looked through him.
When he received no validation, he gestured at the tanks. “We don’t need anything from you to start our war. We don’t care if these replicates live past a few months, or a few weeks. All they’re good for is destroying. Once they’ve fulfilled their duty, it is to our advantage that they die. They’re full of sin. We want a perfect world. I’m telling you this because I want you to see that your fight is futile. We only need you to solve the expiration problem—”
“And we get the data for her poison mechanism, ja?” the scientist reminded Julius.
“Sure. Whatever,” Julius replied, irritated to be interrupted, and then tapped another finger on the device as the scientist came over to Liza and jabbed a needle into her arm.
She jerked, using the action to hide another attempt at cutting her bindings. When the scientist was done, he retreated to stand next to Julius.
Lights in the front row of replicate tanks brightened, illuminating the contents. Inside, grown muscular men twitched as electronic jolts fed into them, working the muscles, preparing them for birth. Her eyes landed on the tanks closest, and to her revulsion, their eyes were open, watching her.
They’re alive.
“You see, Lust. We have our army. If we wanted, we could release them tomorrow.” He crouched down to her level and leaned forward. “You’re the icing on the cake. With your stem cells, we’ll turn ourselves into gods.”
Lust Page 20
